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THE 


HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


A WESTERN FLOOD STORY. 


BY 

JULIA MACNAIR WRIGHT, 

AUTHOR OF “ ADAM’S DAUGHTERS,” “ ON A SNOW-BOUND TRAIN,’) 
“ MR. GROSVENOR’S DAUGHTER,” “ A NEW SAMARITAN,” ETC. 



” Man dwells apart, though not alone ; 

He walks among his peers unread : 

The best of thoughts which he hath known 
For lack of listeners are not said.” 


AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

lO EAST 23d STREET, NEW YORK. 


i 


COPYRIGHT, 1896, 

BY AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 


NOTE. 

Two stories in this volume, the Observer''' Prize Story, 
'^Mither's Laddie,'’’ and the story, "Sardinia Bowker's Pigs," are 
by Mrs, Jessie Wright Whitcomb. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

The Rising of the Waters page 5 

CHAPTER. II. 

The Gathering of the Clans 19 

CHAPTER III. 

The Laws of the Household 32 

The Boy from Scotland 36 

“ Me ’n’ Bose ” 47 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Levying of a Tax 61 

Treasure Found in a Field 67 

The Lonely Boy 77 

CHAPTER V. 

The Day of the Blessed 84 

A Story about Things that are Fair 87 

The Brown Gown 95 

CHAPTER VI. 

Of Errands Done for God 104 

Sardinia Bowker’s Pigs ic8 

Duncan’s Errand for God 122 

CHAPTER VII. 

How Voices Came Over the Sea 134 

An Echo from Over the Sea 138 

A Day with a London Bible Nurse : 144 

-An Editor’s Venture 157 

Another Venture of the Editor — - 165 


4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A Long Rainy Day 172 

A Story of Two Poor Fishermen 176 

Tip and Trie 207 

CHAPTER IX. 

When Sun Came after Storm 216 

A Modern St. Christopher 221 

His Mither’s Laddie 234 

CHAPTER X. 

Robert Comes to the Front- 245 

A Nine-Years-Old Hero 246 

A Silver Quarter 256 

Entertaining Angels 265 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Falling Waters 1 274 

Cooper and Leather Stocking 276 

In the Himalaya Mountains 284 

Bombo and his Land 295 

CHAPTER XII. 

Bread Cast upon the W^aters 309 

Jean’s Personal Interest Society 317 

A Text at the Right Time 325 

Harry’s Aunt Harriet 334 

CHAPTER XIII. 


After the Flood 


345 


THE 


HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE RISING OF THE WATERS, 

“ The storm is past, but it hath left behind it 
Ruin and desolation.” 

I CAN tell you what, Keziah : nobody seems 
to think of it but me, but we ’re going to catch 
it in the spring, sure !” 

“ What about ?” Keziah would demand, turn- 
ing from moulding bread or rolling crust, stuf- 
fing a fowl, or doing other of a cook’s duties in 
a house where hospitality is maintained. 

“ About this kind of a winter,” Ezra would 
reply from his work — sharpening knives, clean- 
ing shoes, mending something that was broken, 
doing the numberless odd jobs that fall in win- 
ter to the man of all work. “ About this weath- 
er : Keziah, you do n’t seem to notice things, or 
to consider what things mean. It ’s a good hap- 
pening that some one in this house looks ahead. 
Don’t you consider, Keziah, that all this winter 


6 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

there’s been something falling about every 
day — snow or rain ? Down here it is both ; but 
up among the mountains where the rivers rise 
it has been all snow and the snow is piled deep, 
and when the snows melt and the rains fall, I 
tell you, there ’ll be— a flood ; the biggest kind 
of a flood. It will beat all the floods on record 
in these parts. Those lowlands there will be 
under ; there ’ll be houses and cattle floating 
down the river, bridges carried off, levees cut 
out, and if people a-plenty do n’t get drownded — 
well — I ’ll be thankful ; that ’s all.” 

“ If so much is going to happen, Ezra, why 
is it nobody knows it but you ?” 

“It is because people don’t think, Keziah; 
they do n’t lay things to heart. How was it in 
the great flood the Bible tells about ? Does n’t it 
say ' they were eating and drinking, marrying 
and giving in marriage, until the day came that 
Noah entered into the ark, and knew not until 
the flood came and took them all away ’ ? It 
will be so now. And besides, Keziah, some peo- 
ple do foresee it and give warning : the news- 
paper editors have had words about it; but 
nobody seems to consider ; I suppose partly 
because no one knows how to stop it. It was 
that way in Noah’s time, it seems. He warned 
them for a hundred years, and they were sur- 
prised at the last.” 


THE RISING OF THE WATERS. 


7 


“ I never could see any harm in the things 
they were doing : eating and drinking and mar- 
rying, and all that. Of course, if folks have the 
sense I have, and do n’t get married, it is better, 
as says the apostle.” 

“The harm, Keziah, was in their not con- 
sidering and mending their ways, and turning 
their hearts. If the folks that are bound to be 
flooded out this spring would go to preparing, 
or those who are to be drownded would be mak- 
ing their peace and preparing for death, all I 
can say is, it would be well for them.” 

“ And what preparing for the flood would 
you advise, Ezra?” asked Keziah, who enjoyed 
conversation. 

“Getting themselves and their possessions 
up high, Keziah ; yes, for their worldly goods 
and their souls it would serve best to set them- 
selves high. ‘ Look to the hills, whence cometh 
your help.’ ‘Turn ye to the stronghold, ye 
prisoners of hope.’ Your ^ place of defence shall 
be the munitions of rocks.’ ‘ In the clefts of 
the rock and the secret places of the stairs.’ ” 

“ Beats all, Ezra, how you can quote !” 

“ There ’s a vast deal of good reading in the 
Scriptures, Keziah.” 

“It appears, Ezra, according to you, that 
we haven’t anything to do about the spring 
flood. We are up here as high as we can get. 


8 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

We 're all right. What is the use of our worry- 
ing?” 

“ But we he not the only people in the world. 
There’s a heap of mighty nice people on the 
levels and in the towns the water will rise 
over.” 

“ I hope you wont be stirring up the Madame 
about it. There ’s no use of worrying her,” said 
Keziah. 

“ The Madame do n’t worry ; she ’s not that 
kind,” said Ezra. 

“ Why not ? She ’s human, is n’t she ?” 

“ Oh, yes, she ’s human ; but there are two 
kinds, or three, of humans in this world.” 

“ Perhaps you ’d better run ’em over for 
me,” sniffed Keziah. 

“Certainly. There’s the kind that never 
looks ahead for themselves and don’t care for 
anybody else. They ’re easily reckoned up. 
Then there ’s the kind that carry all creation on 
their shoulders ; fret about what they can help 
and what they can’t help. They do n’t seem to 
realize that there ’s a God over all, and that he 
manages matters for the best and knows what 
he ’s doing. Then there ’s the kind that take 
an interest in everything, and do their very best 
for themselves and everybody else ; use common 
sense to make the best of everything ; see to the 
present and the future with a diligent hand, but 


THE RISING OF THE WATERS. 


9 


do n’t fret and worry at all, because they know 
that the good Lord is over all and carries their 
burdens, hears when they pray, and brings good 
out of evil. That last is the kind Madame is, 
Keziah.” 

“ Ain ’t you the master hand for considering 
the Madame perfection !” laughed Keziah. 

Where ’d I be if it was n’t for the Madame, 
Keziah ? Died in a gutter long ago. And I 
do n’t reckon you ’d have money in the bank and 
be as well set up as you are if so be the Madame 
hadn’t been of the kind that care for others 
besides themselves.” 

Well, Ezra, am I saying aught against the 
Madame? This household holds together and 
does n’t say words against itself. What time 
may that flood be coming, since you know so 
much?” 

“ Last of March or first of April, I should 
say,” retorted Ezra with decision. “ I tell you 
what, Keziah, there ’ll be sum ’at to put in the 
newspapers when it does come : ‘ The Waters 
are Out !’ ' Forty Feet and Rising !’ ‘ Villages 

Swept Away !’ I can see the great black capi- 
tals same as if I was reading them out of print 
this minute.” 

“ And I,” said Keziah, looking into the oven 
with due anxiety about the welfare of certain 
loaves— ‘‘ I can see as plain as if it was before 


10 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


my two eyes this house packed from garret to 
cellar, and maybe overflowing into the granary. 
There ’ll be the Danforths, and Mrs. Hastings 
and her children, and whoever else chooses to 
come ; Mrs. Lyman, no doubt, and Cicely. 

“Four Hastings folks and one Lyman and 
three Danforths, that ’s eight, and Robert — but 
we ’re used to him.” 

“All the same, there are times when Rob- 
ert Baron is equal to any half-dozen,” sighed 
Ezra. 

“The best and sweetest child that ever 
lived !” flamed Keziah, taking from the oven a 
cunning little pie destined for Robert. 

“ Oh, that ’s true. Fact is, Keziah, I ’m kind 
of dreading to have the little chap’s parents get 
back from Europe. You really take the music 
and sunshine out of a home when you take the 
children out of it; let alone that they always 
give you opportunity to remember, ‘ Whoso 
receiveth one such little child in My name 
receiveth Me.’ Now I tell you, Keziah, if this 
house has to take in eight extra children, and as 
many more grown folks, those children ought to 
be provided for, for children are pretty permis- 
cuous in their doings sometimes. I mean to get 
the first floor of the granary-house all done up 
for a big playroom to keep the children in when 
the flood comes. Robert will tell me how he 


THE RISING OF THE WA TERS. 


II 


likes it fixed, and there ’ll be prospect of some 
peace for the grown folks when the house is 
full.” 

1 It therefore came to pass that a sudden glory 
rose over the soul ol Master Robert Baron when 
Ezra took him to the granary and expounded to 
^ him the prospect of a great rising of the waters 
and of surrounding families flying to Madame 
I Baron’s like doves to the windows. After an 
• hour of making and unmaking plans, of helping 
and hindering, Robert remembered that this 
delightful prospect had not been confided to his 
dearest friend, and rushed to find his grandmo- 
ther. 

' “ Do you know what Ezra says, grandma ? 

He says the water is going to rise and flood 
the folks out down there all along the river, 
and they’ll all come up here — not the waters, 
we ’re too high, but the folks ; and our house 
will be crammed full, and he is going to fix the 
granary for us children !” 

Grandma laid down her book, contemplated 
her grandson, pulled the shade a little higher, 
and contemplated the river. The river lay far 
below the noble bluff on which the big Baron 
homestead rose with its group of outlying build- 
ings, its hedges, and its tree-set lawns ; but it 
was a high, muddy, turbulent 'river for Febru- 
ary ; the skies were overcast, and had been for 


12 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


days, and there was a slow drizzle of rain. The 
river was still far within its banks, but Madame 
Baron remembered that years ago it had set 
back over all those lowlands where so many 
fair homes now stood ; and she considered that 
one spring many of those pleasant gardens 
were under water, the children sat on their door- 
steps and paddled in the turbid ripples of the 
risen river, and the church down in the valley 
had twice had the river up over its high front 
steps, over its carpet, around its organ and pul- 
pit. Madame Baron thought gravely of these 
past times. Keziah was polishing some of the 
chandeliers, and remarked encouragingly, 

“Now, Madame, I wouldn’t put too much 
faith in Ezra’s prophesying. He can’t live with- 
out talking and predicting things. Why, the 
snows and the rains may run out without doing 
a mite of harm. If there is a flood, why, it 
don’t show that folks will be hurt by it. It 
never lasts long.” 

“ And maybe, grandma,” chimed Robert, “ it 
will be just like the Nile ; that has to flood, and 
it does a lot of good, and fairly makes the land, 
you know. If we have a flood this spring per- 
haps lots of good will come of it, and — it will be 
such loads of fun while it lasts ! Mr. Vance was 
reading to us about Noah’s flood, and the Nile 
flood, and other floods, yesterday afternoon. He 


THE RISING OF THE WATERS. 


13 


said it would be something for us to think of, if 
we had a flood here.” 

‘‘Oh, he did, did he?” said grandma dryly. 
“ Robert, go and tell Ezra that I shall want the 
carriage to go to the village as soon as dinner 
is over.” Then Madame took a little note- 
book from her desk and adjourned to the store- 
room. 

Keziah knew that she had gone to take ac- 
count of provisions in prospect of entertaining 
her neighbors during a flood. Keziah turned 
to Miss Eunice, who was busy at a writing- 
table. 

“ One thing is certain : the smoke-house is full, 
and we have plenty of young fowls, and we ’ll 
have thirty hens laying next month. Don’t 
you think. Miss Eunice, it would be well for 
me to make a firkin full of Saratoga chips, and 
a box or so of pepper cakes ? There ’s some 
things that grow better and better for keep- 
ing.” 

Miss Eunice laughed. “I am sure no one 
will starve in this house, Keziah.” 

“ Miss Eunice,” said Keziah, polish-box in 
one hand and chamois leather in the other, giv- 
ing each an oratorical wave as she talked, “ ten 
years I Ve lived in this house, and benevo- 
lence has gone out of these doors like a con- 
stant stream : food, clothes, money, books, good 




THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 


words — give, give, give, day in and day out. 
Some folks, if they saw an account of such giv- 
ing, would say Madame would come to ruin ; 
but she never has.” 

Mrs. Ainslie, Madame’s Scotch cousin, laid 
down her sewing. “ ‘ The liberal soul shall be 
made fat,’ Keziah,” she said. “ ‘ The liberal man 
deviseth liberal things, and by liberal things he 
shall stand.’ Was it not written, ‘ Thou shalt fur- 
nish him liberally out of thy flock, and out of thy 
floor, and out of thy winepress : of that where- 
with the Lord thy God hath blessed thee thou 
shalt give unto him ’? Truly the Apostle speaks 
of the ‘ riches of liberality,’ and only this morn- 
ing I read this text for the day : ‘ While by the 
experiment of this ministration they glorify God 
for your professed subjection unto the gospel 
of Christ, and for your liberal distribution unto 
them, and unto all men.’ ” 

“ There could n’t a word fit better for Madame 
and her house than that very word ‘liberal dis-i; 
tribution.’ Seems to me, ma’am, that must be 
her text for every day,” said Keziah. 

Thus we see that Madame Baron was at 
the head of an establishment like-minded with 
herself, and that whatever she did was right in 
the eyes of the rest. At present the household 
consisted of Madame Baron and her grandson, 
Robert Baron, whose parents were abroad ; Mrs. 


THE RISING OF THE WA TERS. 


^5 


Ainslie, a cousin of Mrs. Baron — a far-off Scotch 
cousin, but a dear friend — who had come to spend 
a year with her; and Eunice Lane, daughter 
of a friend of Mrs. Baron. Eunice had lived at 
the Baron homestead since the death of her 
parents, five years before, a friend and com- 
panion to Madame Baron, and also a writer of 
verse, stories, and articles in general for papers 
and magazines. There were three servants ; 
Ezra the factotum, Keziah, and Keziah’s niece, 
Serena ; while in a little cottage a field off lived 
Peter with his wife and daughter, who did all 
the extra work of the place. People said Ma- 
dame Baron lived a life of ideal ease and happi- 
ness ; Madame herself was ready to say, “ Truly 
the lines have fallen unto me in pleasant places ; 
I have a goodly heritage.’* 

As Ezra predicted, ere long the river rose, 
and rose, and rose. Silently and slowly at first 
it crept up its banks, waters one day where 
there were rocks or shelving turf the day be- 
fore. Then the bushes' which had been well 
above the stream swayed to and fro, and their 
slender branches dipped and rose, timing the 
passing of the flood. There were three days of 
heavy rain in March, with warm winds blow- 
ing from the south before and after; immedi- 
ately huge blocks of ice began to crowd upon 
each other, rocking down the torrent. The 


1 6 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

upper sources had broken forth ; the snows on 
the mountains, the ice in the gullies had given 
way ; every stream was a river ; every river was 
at flood, every glen that stood rocky and dry 
in the summer was now a water-course, and the 
heaped up logs and masses of debris began to 
dash down stream as if great rafts built by genii 
of the hills. Here a section of fence ; yonder, 
some one’s ice-house, or chicken-house, or pig- 
pen ; then some loosened wharf from the small 
landing places above on the river. Robert found 
all this exciting and delightful. 

“ Grandma,” he said, after to-day I think 
the academy will be closed, for the little bridges 
are not safe, and some are gone, and maybe the 
big bridge wont be safe ; and Mr. Vance means 
to close until the boys from the other side of 
the river can come back, for they are half the 
school. Maybe the holiday will be over a week 
long. Trouble is, to pay for it, he wont give us 
Spring Holidays.” 

“ Mr. Vance will be lonely, shut up at the 
Petersons’ all that time,” said Mrs. Baron. “ It 
is not a very agreeable boarding-place for him. 
Robert, I will give you a note, when you start 
for school, inviting Mr. Vance here for the time 
school is closed.” 

'‘We are going to be just like people in a 
siege, Ezra,” said Robert to the factotum. “ The 


THE RISING OF THE WATERS, 


river is the enemy and grandma’s house is the 
big town or castle. Did you ever read about 
the siege of Leyden, or of Calais, or of Breda ? 
They are in history, you know.” 

“ I never read of ’em,” said Ezra. 

“ But the siege of Paris, Ezra, you surely 
read about that ; for you were a big man when 
it happened and all the newspapers were full 
of it. My father was almost my age then, and 
he read in the papers every day. I wish there 
was a siege somewhere now for me to read 
about.” 

“ I should think the river would give you 
enough to think of now. Master Robert. I never 
read about the siege of Paris because I was 
idling, and rioting, and wasting my time, when 
I was a young man. May the Lord forgive 
me !” 

“ Then I suppose, Ezra, you never read about 
the siege of Jerusalem, by the Roman, Titus, 
when all the terrible things happened that the 
Lord foretold to the Jews.” 

No, I never did. I think I should like right 
well to read that.” 

'' There ’s a book all about it upstairs in the 
hall case. I ’ll get it for you, Ezra. What a lot 
of corn is in those cribs! Why don’t you sell 
it, Ezra ? We can’t use so much.” 

'‘We ’ll see. If this rise goes on we ’ll have 


2 


1 8 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

half a dozen or more horses and cows belonging 
to other people here in the stalls to feed.” 

Robert turned to see what promise the river 
gave of continuing its rise. Then he ran to the 
bank with a shout. A wagon-body was whirl- 
ing down stream with a lad clinging to it, and 
not far behind it the body of an ox. 


THE GA THERING OF THE CLANS. 


19 


CHAPTER II. 

THE GATHERING OF THE CLANS. 

“For his bounty — 

There was no winter in it ; an autumn 't was 
That grew the more by reaping. His delights 
Were dolphin-like.” 

Robert’s shriek of horror, at the sight of 
a lad not much older than himself threatened 
with instant death in that raging muddy flood, 
brought out all the family. Ezra seized a coil 
of rope and sprang on a horse that stood nib- 
bling at a leafless currant bush. Grasping the 
animal’s mane and careless of saddle or bridle 
Ezra darted along the bank, keeping a little 
in-land, and Robert knew at once that he was 
making for the The Bend,” half a mile below 
the Baron house; a place where the current 
set strongly in-shore. Peter More, who was 
sawing wood, dashed after him across lots, and 
Robert, wishing that he had seven-league boots, 
followed at the best of his speed, keeping along 
the grassy edges of the paths to prevent stick- 
ing in the mud, and scrambling through wire 
and rail fences, until Keziah remarked when he 
finally came home that “ what was left of his 
suit was not worth looking at.” 


20 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 


“ Have a hot blanket, Keziah, and some hot 
ginger tea ready,” said Madame Baron, while 
Eunice filled a hot -water bag and Serena ran 
for a bottle of liniment which was her panacea 
for all ills — even those of a moral kind. Miss 
Eunice said; for she asserted that if Serena was 
reproved by Mrs. Baron or Keziah she con- 
soled herself by sniffing at this famous decoc- 
tion ! 

Would Ezra reach the bend before the over- 
turned wagon-body, upon the bottom of which 
clung the lad ? Serena ran to the garret and 
climbed upon the roof to watch progress, and 
Eunice with her opera-glass betook herself to 
the balcony of her room. 

“ He 's got there ! Ezra ’s there !” shrieked 
Serena. 

He has climbed out on the big willow that 
leans over the river, Mrs. Ainslie. It rocks ter- 
ribly with his weight ; he is standing up with 
the rope coiled, I think ; the boy is being carried 
in by the water sweeping around the bend. 
I wish Peter were there. Ezra is risking his 
life for that boy.” 

“ Peter ’s there !” shrilled Serena from the 
house top. 

“ He has flung the rope across the wagon- 
body ; he has tied something to the end of it,” 
explained Eunice to Mrs. Ainslie and Madame 


THE GA THERING OF THE CLANS. 


21 


Baron, who stood near her. “ There — the boy 
has the rope ! The boy is off the wagon and 
that is whirling down stream ! I cannot see 
where he is, but Peter and Ezra have climbed 
down the bank ; it is very high there.” A 
pause — “ Oh, I see now ; they have the boy, alive 
or dead, and Ezra is getting on the horse, and 
Peter is laying the boy across the horse before 
him. Mrs. Baron, how intensely interested we 
are in the saving of this child that we never 
saw before — whose face and name we do not 
know !” 

“ He ’s alive, Keziah !” shouted Ezra as he 
rode up, and Keziah and Peter’s wife carried 
the dripping, half conscious lad to the kitchen, 
where there was great use of hot towels, hot 
blankets, ginger tea, and what not. 

“ Here ’s the first of the refugees,” said Ke- 
ziah; there ’ll be more before to-morrow night.” 

The Madame made a great deal of my 
saving that boy, Keziah,” said Ezra. “ I came 
pretty near feeling uplifted when she made 
mention of it at family prayers at night. She 
never has appeared to think much of the way 
she rescued me, when my steps had well-nigh 
slipped and the horrible pit pretty nearly had 
me. The Bible makes no mention of saving a 
boy from drownding ; maybe he ’d be better 
dead than alive ; but it does say that ‘ whoso 


22 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


converteth a sinner from the error of his ways 
shall save a soul from death and cover a multi- 
tude of sins’ — which is the case of me and 
Madame.” 

“ Ezra Perkins,” said Keziah solemnly, I 
sometimes think that there are people that even 
take it upon them to be proud of what great 
sinners they used to be. Now it isn’t certain 
that because a man was a great sinner the Lord 
is going to make a Saul of Tarsus of him when 
he gets him converted.” But Keziah presently 
felt that she had been unduly hard on Ezra, and 
as a token of her contrition she made him a cup 
of cocoa for his supper. 

The next morning Robert started off for 
school with the invitation for Mr. Vance in his 
pocket. About nine o’clock Madame Baron sent 
for Ezra. “ I think, Ezra, that the big bridge 
will soon be in danger from the immense drift 
of wreck that is coming down stream. Take the 
two-horse wagon, and go over to my niece, Mrs. 
Danforth, and tell her I cannot rest easy unless 
they all come over here at once. Their house, of 
course, cannot be carried away, but the water 
will soon be around it, and perhaps the lower 
story wet, making it very unhealthy for them. 
If the bridge falls we can get no news of them, 
and if they do not come to-day they may not be 
able to get across here later.” 


THE GA THERING OF THE CLANS. 


23 


At one o’clock along the southern high road 
j could be seen Robert Baron’s sturdy little pony 
trotting beside the tall bay horse of Mr. Vance 
I the schoolmaster. As Robert came in sight of 
i the big bridge he uttered a shout of joy. “ Look 
Mr. Vance, look ! There is Mr. Danforth coming 
* over with all his family — Cousin Emma and the 
four children, and Jemima Caroline the servant ! 
That ’s our big wagon, and that ’s Mr. Danforth’s 
surrey behind. You never saw such a lot of fun 
as we ’re going to have ! Ezra put up a little old 
cooking-stove in the granary, that he has turned 
into a playroom, and we ’ll be popping corn and 
making molasses candy all the time. Oh, say ! 
that boy out there, trimming bushes and cleaning 
up the lawn, must be the one we saved from 
drowning yesterday.” 

“We are here, aunt, according to orders,” 
said Mr. Danforth, “ and very thankful to re- 
ceive such orders, for there is a decided damp- 
ness down in those levels from which you called 
us. Still, as far as real need of refuge goes, I 
should think you would have sent for Mrs. Ly- 
man and Cicely. The water in the Granite 
Glen is rising, and while it can never reach 
their house it may shut them out from getting 
away or any one from getting to them. And 
they are alone. Mr. Lyman was called to Boston 
last week. This flood has driven many house- 


H THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

boats up the glens, and the house-boat people 
are a rough set.” 

How wrong I have been not to think of 
them !” said Mrs. Baron. “ As soon as dinner is 
over, Henry, cannot you take your surrey and 
go for Mrs. Lyman and Cicely ?” 

“ Indeed I can. Nothing else will make my 
mind easy about them,” said Mr. Danforth, as he 
started to help Ezra to unload from the big wa- 
gon, and carry to the storage room above the 
granary, an amount of luggage which they had 
not considered it safe to leave in the deserted 
home. 

Robert had the four Danforths to escort to 
the “ new playroom,” and then the adventure of 
the afternoon before to narrate. To top all, 
there was “ the very boy ” in evidence at work 
on the lawn. Come on,” said Robert to Ben 
and Ned Danforth; ‘4et’s go hear how he got 
into the water. Ezra made him stay in bed this 
morning until I started to school. Hullo there ! 
what ’s your name ?” 

“ Alec,” said the boy. “ Alec Cameron.” 

Why do n’t you come along with us to the 
playroom ?” 

That winna do for me,” said the boy. “ It ’s 
a’ richt for you, but I ’m no sib to ony here, an’ 
it is my duty to wark for my bite an’ my sup.” 

“ Hoo ! grandma doesn’t care for that at all.” 


THE GATHERING OF THE CLANS. 


25 


“ Aye, mon, but I care myser. The Buik 
says, ‘ He that winna work shanna eat.’ ” 

I say !” cried Robert, seized by a new 
thought ; “ wont your father and mother be aw- 
fully worried about you?” 

“No,” said the boy. “I’m thinkin’ they ’re 
better satisfied aboot me the noo than they waur 
yesterday.” 

“ When you were in the water ?” 

“ No ; before iver I fell intil the water.” 

“ Well, that is queer ! Where are they ?” 

“ They ’re deid, an’ gaun to glory, an’ I mak 
sure they are thankfu’ to see me get clear o’ the 
pooer o’ a verra bad mon, a drinkin’ loon wha 
swears awfu’, God forgi’e him, gif he is leevin’ !” 

“ How did you come to be with such a man?” 
cried Robert. 

“ Tell us how you fell in the water,” shouted 
Ned. 

“ Do you mind last May yon steamboat that 
burned, up the river, an’ ten passengers were 
lost ? My mither an’ faither an’ me were on 
board yon, an’ they two were drooned ; but a 
mon grippit me, an’ bein’ a rare strong young 
man we won to shore. So I was left all alane, 
not carin’ verra much aboot leevin’. There was 
a warehoose mon who said I could have wark wi’ 
him, an’ leeve in his hoose ; so I did, an’ I went 
to nicht-schule, for I ’m mair fond o’ study than 


26 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 

o’ onything. It was in November I got knocked 
over by a big barrel in yon wareboose, an’ me j 
leg was broke, an’ I was pit intil a hospital. ( 
When I could leave the hospital I was no fit for 
wark yet, an’ as the mon I had been wi’ had 
gone south wi’ his wife, wha was a sickly body, ; 
the doctor said, ‘ Ye canna be rinnin’ round wi’ | 
no ony home in winter time,’ an’ he hed me sent ii, 
to the puirhoose. It ’s a rare disgrace to be in a : 
puirhoose, an’ I haena gotten o’er it yet. I felt ^ 
as if my hairt was clean broke ; for never before ’ 
did I know o’ a guid Cameron in ane o’ they 
puirhooses ! Mebbe ye will no want to stan’ ' 
clishin’ an’ claverin’ here wi’ me, now I hae told 
ye the hale truth : that I hae bin in sic a low doon 
place as yon.” 

'‘ Why, boy, it wasn’t your fault,” said Rob- v 
ert, drawing a little nearer. “You were put 
there because you had no home and could not 
work. I wish you had been here ! But it is 
over now ; what are you feeling so about it for ? 
Were they ugly to you there, I say ?” 

“No verra. It was the disgrace o’ it maks 
me sair.” 

“ Grandma would say it was no disgrace, since 
you had not done wrong. Tell us the rest, and 
do n’t you mind about the poorhouse any more. 
We do n’t mind it ; do we, boys ?” j 

“ Not a bit,” said Ben and Ned. | 


THE GATHERINCt OF THE CLANS. 


27 


‘‘ I kep’ tryin’ to go out to a place, but few 
folks were wantin’ a boy not thirteen, till yester- 
day mornin’ along cam’ a farmer named Bolger, 
and he was married to the sister of the puirhoose 
keeper, you see ; so the keeper kent I was a 
guid boy to wark, an’ he wanted to favor his 
brither-in-law, an’ he said I must gang wi’ him. 
I fought hard against it, for the mon was drunk 
an’ swearin’ ; an’ he lookit like a bad mon all 
through. In spite o’ me I was made to get oup 
wi’ yon mon in his big wagon, an’ he hed twa 
• bonny red oxen till it. When we left town the 
mon was that fou’, whoopin’ an’ singin’ an’ toll- 
in’ hoo near he daur drive to yon bank — what 
does he.dae but drive close to the brink, an’ doon 
the bank crashed with the weight o’ yon oxen 
an’ wagon, for the river, had undermined the 
banks. Then we were all in the water, flounder- 
in’ ; an’ I canna tell what happened till I foun’ 
myself dingin’ to the wagon bed, as it sailed 
awa overset ; an’ Mr. Perkins, wha pu’ed me oot, 
he says a drooned ox cam’ doon the stream be- 
hint me. I canna say if yon other ox an’ the 
mon were drooned or no. I ken the puir wickit 
mon was no verra fit to appear before God. 
Hech, laddies, I can say for mysel’, like David 
in the Buik, ‘ he sent from above, he took me, he 
drew me out of deep waters.’ ” 

“My! haven’t you had adventures!” said 


28 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


Robert, half envying a boy with such a marvel- 
lous history. 

“ I rather no hed ony, gif it was God’s will,” 
said Alec. 

“You boys!” cried Serena from the door, 

“ you ’d better hurry in and get ready for dinner.” 

Robert was so expeditious with his prepara- ; 
tions that he presently made his way near to 
Mrs. Ainslie’s chair in the sitting-room. 

“ Aunt Ainslie,” he said in the winning tone 
that always captured hearts, “ do you know that 
the boy that Ezra got out of the river is Scotch ; * 
and his name is Alec Cameron ; and he speaks 
Scotchy, just as you can, when you want to^ and 
as I love to hear you ?” 

“No! Is that so, Robert? I have been 
busy writing letters all the morning and have 
not seen the boy, except that he was busy at 
work on the lawn.” 

“ He is a good boy. Aunt Ainslie ; I know he 
is. He loves study, and he knows the Bible too, 

I ’m sure ; and his story is so pitiful.” Where- 
upon Robert rehearsed the tale told by Alec 
Cameron, concluding with “ and. Aunt Ainslie, 
his clothes are dreadful bad, and he is bigger 
than the rest of us boys, so we can’t give him 
ours, and I don’t know what to do about it.” 

“ And what am I to do about it?” asked Mrs. 
Ainslie. 


THE GATHERING OF THE CLANS. 


2g 


Robert laughed, half shyly, half joyfully. 
“Only what you want to do, you know; and 
it is not begging to ask for things for other 
people, that need them dreadfully ; is it ?” 

The dinner-bell rang, and Mrs. Ainslie and 
Robert went to the table in a particularly friend- 
ly frame of mind. 

Robert noticed that Mrs. Ainslie had a little 
conference with Mr. Danforth before he set out 
to bring Mrs. Lyman and Cicely from Granite 
Glen ; and that Mr. Danforth took a close look 
at Alec, who was holding the horse for him. 
“Alec will have some clothes when Mr. Dan- 
forth comes back,” said Robert to himself, for 
he understood how they did things in this head- 
quarters of benevolence where he lived. 

“ More people !” shouted all the boys, as Mr. 
Danforth returned, about five o’clock, bringing 
the Lymans — for Cicely was always a mistress 
of the revels wherever she went, and a favor- 
ite with all small boys, and girls. 

“More people!” cried Robert, in the very 
midst of supper, for his seat at table commanded 
a view of the driveway, and up it rolled a Tip- 
ton hack, followed by a spring wagon stored 
with trunks. 

“ It is my niece, Clara Hastings !” said Ma- 
dame Baron rising from the table. “Will you 
all excuse me? Eunice, take my place, please.” 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


30 

“Is there room for us, aunt?” asked Mrs. 
Hastings as Madame Baron met her at the 
door. “If your hotel is full we will go on to 
Ray field hotel.” 

“There is always room for more. Come 
in, my dear; come in, all of you. I thought, 
Clara, you were in New York.” 

“We reached home Saturday night ; at least 
I did, with the children. Mr. Hastings has to 
stay in New York three weeks longer. The 
city seemed not to be agreeing with the two 
little ones, and there was so much spring work 
in housecleaning and sewing waiting for me 
that I came back. I have been too busy since 
Monday morning to send you even a letter ; and 
now here I am, with nurse and four children, 
to impose on your hospitality !” 

“You are all very welcome ; but surely Tip- 
ton is not under water, Clara.” 

“No, only the street next the river ; but, 
aunt, there are fears for the great reservoir : it 
is weak and may give way ! I spent a night of 
terror last night, and this morning I found so 
many people who lived below the bluff were 
going out of town that I sent the children up on 
the bluff while I packed my most important 
things, and sent some to Col. Jones and brought 
some with me. I telegraphed Mr. Hastings 
that I was coming here.” 


THE GATHERING OF THE CLANS. 


31 


‘‘That was right,” said the Madame. “You 
know where you are always welcome ; but I 
do pray you may be mistaken about the great 
reservoir giving way.” 

“ It is well, best of aunts,” said Mrs. Hast- 
ings, when she entered the great dining-room 
and saw the large family there gathered, “that 
both your heart and your home are large. But 
who is this stranger lad?” and she looked at 
a fine frank-faced boy, in a dark blue suit, who 
sat beside Mrs. Ainslie. 

“That,” spoke up Robert, never at a loss, 
“ is a boy we fished out of the river yesterday. 
His name is Alec Cameron.” 


32 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE LA WS OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 

“ In silence 

Steals on soft-handed Charity, 

Tempering her gifts, that seem so free. 

By time and place. 

Till not a woe the world can see 
But finds her grace.” 

Thursday evening had closed over the 
Baron homestead with every room occupied, 
a bubble of childish laughter rippling out of 
the bed-chambers, a tripping of little bare feet 
through the halls, as foragers in night clothes 
and armed with pillows made raids on un- 
guarded quarters. Then there were some hasty 
dashes by nurses, some clear enunciations of law 
by mothers, and at last all was quiet : the sweet, 
calm, sleep-angel ruled above stairs. 

Down in the kitchen Keziah, Ezra and Sere- 
na were busy with dishes, and with preparations 
for breakfast. 

“ About all you counted on are here, Keziah,” 
said Ezra. 

“ And the flood you counted on is here too, 
Ezra. Hark to the rushing of that river ! Yes, 
the house is full ; but if more come — mark my 


THE LA WS OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 


33 


words — Madame will take them in. And more 
will come, I know.” 

“ Who will they be ?” asked Serena. 

“ What their names are I can’t tell, Serena, 
but the Lord has a way of sending people to our 
doors.” 

“ If they ’re his people then he honors us in 
sending them,” said Ezra ; “ for you mind, ‘ I 
was a stranger and ye took me in.’ ” 

“ That can be said over that little Alec Cam- 
eron,” said Serena, wiping a plate. “ Miss Eu- 
nice said to Madame this evening, ‘ That boy is 
a real Kingdom-of-heavenite.’ ” 

The next morning when all the big family 
at Madame Baron’s were gathered in the libra- 
ry, prayers being just finished, Madame Baron 
said, “ I have some laws to lay down for you 
young people. A community without laws is 
soon mischievous and miserable. After break- 
fast Cicely and Mina Danforth may help Serena 
set the house in order ; Belle and Kitty Hastings 
may go to the kitchen and do whatever Keziah 
wishes them to help her in. You boys can be 
set at work by Ezra. At half past nine all of 
you will meet Mr. Vance in this room, and he 
will read history or travels with you until half 
past eleven. The rest of the day you can play.” 

“ I wish you could arrange some morning 
work for us elders,” said Mrs. Lyman. 

3 


34 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


“ I was about to propose that we should oc- 
cupy the big sewing -room and see what our 
hands and two machines could do in preparing 
clothing, which we shall have large demand for 
when this flood has passed. I fear there will be 
many wrecked homes and destitute families.” 

“ I am glad we ’re not the ones to sew !” cried 
Robert. “ I think all is going to be nice but 
the evening. What can we do in the evening, 
grandma ?” 

“ What do you usually do in the evenings, 
Robert, say until nine o’clock bed- time ?” said 
Mr. Danforth. 

“It is usually the nicest part of the day. 
Grandma and Cousin Eunice tell me stories, or 
read aloud, or tell each other things that hap- 
pened, really happened, and I listen ; and the 
happenings are the best stories you ever heard 
in your life.” 

“ I should like to hear them,” said Mr. Vance. 

“You have found us a way out of the even- 
ing question, Robert,” said Mr. Danforth. “ Let 
us arrange to spend the time from tea until nine 
o’clock in taking turns telling stories.” 

“ Suppose we are not adept in that art?” said 
Mrs. Lyman. 

“If we really cannot put our own stories into 
good shape we must in the course of the day 
take Miss Eunice into our confidence, and as 


THE LA WS OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 33 

she is skilled as a story-teller she and her type- 
writer will get our ruder productions ready for 
our public.” 

A great clapping of hands, led off by Robert, 
seconded this proposition. 

“ To-night ? Shall we begin to-night ?” said 
Robert. 

“We are not afraid of beginning on Friday. 
And I do n’t believe any of you will have a nicer 
story than Alec told us boys about himself.” 

Alec turned very red in the face and tried to 
hide behind Mr. Vance. “ Never fear, Alec,” 
said Madame. “You children will only need 
to listen and improve ; you will not be called 
upon for any stories. We will have our tale- 
telling begin this very evening.” 

To Robert, who loved stories and conversa- 
tion even better than play, the day moved rather 
slowly. It was a happy day, however, to all. 
The work and study of the morning gave zest 
to the games of the afternoon for the children ; 
and as the shears and needles of the ladies made 
“ coats and garments for the poor ” they dis- 
cussed plans for the mission school in Tipton, 
and for work among that most neglected of all 
classes in America, the house-boat people of the 
Mississippi and its confluents. Finally evening 
came, and Madame Baron announced that Mrs. 
Ainslie, as the senior, would tell the first story. 


S6 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

“ My story,” said Mrs. Ainslie, “ is called The 
Boy from Scotland, and for Robert’s benefit 
I will say at once it has no reference to Alec. 
When I was in Boston last fall the friend whom 
I visited told me this story of what had hap- 
pened to her family physician, the famous Dr. 
MacNab. This morning I recalled this incident 
and wrote it down, and Eunice proposes to type- 
write all our tales and keep them as a memento 
of this time, when, in the midst of floods and 
fears and desolation, the good Lord has shut us 
in to so much that is pleasant and peaceful. 
Thus I begin my story.” 

THE BOY FROM SCOTLAND. 

‘'There! now I hope I will have a little 
peace !” 

Dr. MacNab shut his office door, pulled down 
the curtains, leaned back in his big cushioned 
chair, laid his feet across the seat of another 
chair, reserved for patients, and closed his eyes. 
It was high noon : very likely he might be left 
in quiet for, say, half an hour. The doctor’s 
iron-gray hair, ruffied by hard rubbing in the re- 
gion of his over-tired fifth pair of nerves, stood 
up like a window-brush ; to the usual lines in his 
large-featured face were added some wrinkles of 
weariness. He had been up nearly all night, 
and since six o’clock had been hard at work. 


THE LA WS OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 


37 


from hospital to private patients and office 
cases. 

“ Old Crusty ” many called him, from his 
stern, dominant face, rough voice, and sharp 
speech. Nevertheless he was over-crowded with 
patients, not only because he was a surgeon of 
repute, but when the poor came to him, hard- 
working, small- waged men and lads, widows and 
orphans, he soundly rated them for their “ fool- 
ishness ” in being injured, gave them the care 
for which his rich patients paid with heavy fees, 
and then put by the proffered pay, saying, 
“ Leave that for next time.” 

Scarcely had Dr. MacNab’s tired eyes closed 
when there was a knock at the office-door. 

“Oh, bother!” mumbled. the doctor; then, 
“ Come in I” 

When the door swung open there was a lad 
of fourteen, big and well-made but gaunt and 
weary looking, as if he had known recent hard- 
ships. A poor boy — a foreign boy ; on his head 
was a Scotch cap or bonnet ; his coarse suit was 
home-made, shrunken, faded ; his big wrists 
showed below the sleeves, and thick blue knitted 
stockings were revealed in wrinkles between the 
trousers and the tops of his heavy cow-hide 
shoes. There were wide dark circles under the 
boy’s honest blue eyes, and something pathetic 
about the firmly-cut mouth and chin, which 


j8 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

suggested that he had “sighed for sorrow of 
heart.” 

The doctor took in all this at a glance, for it 
is part of a doctor’s business to be observing. 

“ Well !” he said sharply — “ what ’s broken 
about you ? What do you need mended ?” 

“ It ’s my heart that ’s broken, an’ nane on 
this earth can mend that ; it mun be the Lord 
himsel’ does it. Some tell me time will cure it, 
but I canna believe it.” 

The boy advanced very slowly as he spoke : 
the doctor spoke sharply : 

“ What broke your heart? You ’re too young 
to own one !” 

“ I hae lost my mither — two weeks ago to- 
day. We were on the ‘ Sea Queen,’ an’ my mi- 
ther was in one of the boats that went down.” 

“ So!” said the doctor, becoming more inter- 
ested, for the papers had been full of the affair 
of the “ Sea Queen.” “ And were you on the boat 
that was picked up and carried to Baltimore? 
How came you to be parted from your mo- 
ther?” 

“ They put the women in the boats first, sir, 
and when it came to the rest of us they said the 
boat where my mither was was o’er full, an’ they 
wouldna let me in. It was an awfu’ grief to 
her, to be parted ; for we had nane else but ilk 
ither. I wish they had let me in.” 


THE LA WS OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 


39 


“ Then you ’d not be here alive, but in the 
sea.” 

' “ I wad be in heaven with my mither, an’ 

i ithers that God took long syne.” He was close 
to the doctor’s chair now, and he laid his hand 
on the arm of it, looking earnestly at the doctor. 
“ Are you my Uncle John MacNab?” 

“ I ’m John MacNab, but I do n’t know that I 
have any boy of your inches to call me uncle.” 

“I’m Norman Bruce. Were you not own 
blither to my gran’mither, Ailsa Graham, an’ 
own uncle to my mither, Annie Bruce o’ Pais- 
ley? Did you no get a letter fro my mither 
tellin’ that Uncle Bruce was dead an’ naething 
at a’ was left us ; an’ she wad come in the ‘ Sea 
Queen ’ to America ? Did you no ?” 

“ No — but about three weeks ago I remember 
, I threw a couple of sealed letters into the fire by 
accident, and as one went in I saw it had a 
foreign stamp. So you and your mother were 
coming to me, to be taken care of ! You might 
have waited for an answer.” 

“ We were no coming to be paupers,” said the 
boy flushing. “ We wad both work. As ye are 
a lone man, my mither thought that maybe she 
could pay our way by keeping hoose for ye. She 
kept hoose brawly. Gif you didna need her 
she thought your good word might get her a 
hoosekeepin’ place. Money is plenty here, they 


40 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 


tell us, an’ my mither wanted to give me school- 
in’, for I was aye set on my books. We were 
not meanin’ to beg. I could gi’e up the books 
an’ work, gin it was God’s will.” 

“ And what have you to show that you are 
Annie’s son ?” 

“ Eh ? Didna I say so, the noo ?” 

“ But that does not make it so. You may be 
some one else.” 

“ Hech, sirs ! But that wad be leein’ ! Wad 
I lee to win an uncle or onything else ? Does 
no the Scripture say, ‘ Lee not at all 1 I wad be 
in a bad way — to lee !” 

“And you have nothing to show me? No 
proofs of your identity ?” 

“To show you, sir? Oh, yes. Mither an’ I, 
knowin’ it is sorely dangerous to go down to 
the sea in ships, divided a few bit keepsakes. 
I hae here a picture o’ your sister Ailsa Gra- 
ham, an’ twa letters you wrote her an’ my 
mither.” 

He took the little mementos from an inner 
pocket of his jacket. Dr. MacNab softened as 
he read them. 

“Well, my lad — Norman, is your name? — I 
suppose I must shoulder my responsibilities as 
an uncle and take you home with me. So you 
want to study. What for?” 

“To be a doctor,” cried the boy eagerly. 


THE LA WS OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 41 

I'he doctor shrugged his shoulders. “ That 
takes many years and much money. You aim 
high.” 

“ Aye. One does na’ get onywhere by aim- 
ing low. But, uncle, I winna beg. I can work 
for you ; and, sir, maybe you could lend me the 
money to go through the schools, and then I ’d 
pay you back, with interest, when I was a great 
man like you,” and he looked about the two 
office rooms with admiration. 

“ Perhaps we can manage it somehow,” said 
the non-committal doctor. “ You look as if a 

I " t dinner and a new suit would be the first require- 
fments.” 

If “I had a roll when I left the cars. The peo- 
ple at Baltimore were verra good, and gave me 
^ my ticket to Boston and a bit of money besides. 
Uncle ” — in a persuasive tone — “ wad ye no like 
to take a girl bairn ?” 

' A girl child !” roared the doctor. “ No ! 

I No! No!” 

“ She ’s unco pretty behaved, an’ weel fa- 
vored,” coaxed Norman, “and only three years 
I old ; wi’ no one in a’ the wide world.” 

! “ A three-year-old girl ! No ! What next ? 

j No!” 

1 “ Didna the Lord Jesus say, ‘ Whoso receiv- 

eth one such little child in my name receiveth 
me ? Surely if you would be a faither to the 


42 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


wee girlie you wad get a great blessin’ ! The 
bit bairnie canna be let perish.” 

“ And how did you come by her, in the name 
of sense?” 

“ She was wi’ her father an’ mither on the 
‘Sea Queen.’ The father was knocked over- 
board. The mither was in the boat wi’ me, but 
she died ; she couldna thole so much trouble. 
The bairn has no one to look to. Will ye no 
pity her?” 

“ I can’t take up all strays. There are orphan 
asylums—” 

“ Uncle doctor, she is named Alice, yer ain 
mither’s name.” 

“ But I can’t take up every child that hap- 
pens to be named Alice. Where is the child ?” 

“ I brought her wi’ me, but I left her' near 
the car station, wi’ a braw sonsie woman, who 
has a little shop, to take tent o’ her till I found 
you.” 

“ The overseers of the poor must look after 
her. I can’t.” 

Then Norman straightened himself and 
looked Dr. MacNab in the eyes firmly. “ I ’m 
only a boy, uncle, but I have given my word 
an’ I canna go back fro’ it. When her poor 
mither was deein’ she said to me wad I 
keep the bairnie, an’ be a brither to her, an’ 
not forsake the tender bit lambie to strangers. 


THE LA WS OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 


43 


An’ I said, ‘ Aye !’ There was nae ither way 
but to promise, her deein’ eyes bein’ on me. I 
couldna go back fro’ my word, for God is a 
God o’ covenant keepin’. Gin ye will tell me 
where I can get wark, uncle, an’ give me a good 
word to an employer, I mak’ na doot I can ’arn 
bread for me an’ the bit bairnie, an’ maybe the 
braw dame will board us.” 

“ And what about your fine plan of being a 
doctor ?” 

“ I could study o’ nichts ; and by-and-by I ’d 
win through, no doubt. One can do all things 
wi’ God’s blessin’.” 

Dr. MacNab threw his arm about the boy’s 
shoulders and drew him close. “You’re the 
sample of boy I ’ve been looking for this ten 
years for a son ! Thank God you did not go 
down with the ‘ Sea Queen !’ Come, Norman, 
first that dinner, and then the clothes, and then 
we will find your bairn, Alice.” 

“ Do you mean to tak’ her?” cried Norman. 

“ Certainly. I ’ve been wishing for just such 
a pair for ten years. Now I have a son and a 
daughter. Who will now call John MacNab a 
lonely man ?” 

“Were you no in earnest wi’ your ither 
words?” asked Norman. 

“ I was feeling your moral pulse ; that was all.” 

At four o’clock Dr. MacNab with his nephew 


44 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


and the lovely little Alice reached his house. 
As they stepped from the doctor’s carriage the 
housekeeper appeared on the steps, very much 
excited. 

“ Doctor, your niece from Scotland got here 
this morning ! Poor soul, what a way she was 
in ! She was wrecked in the ‘ Sea Queen,’ and 
was out in a boat and picked up by a vessel 
running into Portland. Oh, but she is worn 
and heart-broken, for she lost her only child — 
a boy, in the wreck. They were parted in the 
boats and—” 

A kind of whirlwind, in jacket and trousers, 
new boots and soft hat, dashed past her and 
into the house, and the long-decorously-silent 
halls of Dr. MacNab echoed to a boy’s shout, 
“ Mither ! Mither ! I ’m safe ! Whaur are ye ? 
Hither !” 

In a minute more a fair-haired woman in an 
over-large black wrapper, loaned by the house- 
keeper, was hugging the whirlwind. And the 
arms and legs arrayed in Dr. MacNab’s latest 
purchase were doing wonders of hugging and 
leaping, whirling, frisking, waving ; while a little 
fluffy yellow and white creature, with big blue 
eyes, was tugging at black wrapper and grey 
trousers, crying, “ Here ’s Allie ! Hug Allie, 
somebodies !” 

Thus it was that Dr. John MacNab sat down 


THE LA WS OF THE HOUSEHOLD, 


45 


to his tea-table provided with a family, and 
when the bell rang after tea for evening 
prayers no longer did the household consist 
merely of three servants, but his niece and the 
boy and girl cheated him into a dream that he 
had daughter and grandchildren to bless his 
age, and he heartily thanked God. 

As Mrs. Ainslie read her story, Alec Cam- 
eron, as if compelled by the sweet accents of his 
native Scottice, crept nearer and nearer to the 
reader, until he was close beside her arm. Mr. 
Vance noticed that the boy’s big grey eyes were 
full of tears, and at the close, where Norman 
rushes to his mother’s arms, there was a sobbing 
catch in Alec’s breath and a shaking of his shoul- 
ders as he tried hard not to break forth into cry- 
ing ; his lonely heart was full. As Mrs. Ainslie ’s 
voice fell into silence she heard the rapid breath- 
ing and saw the deep sadness of the little lad at 
her side. 

“ My poor mitherless bairn !” she said in a 
voice full of deep, tender compassion, and she 
put her arm about him. The impulsive Robert 
darted forward. “ It was a beautiful story !” he 
exclaimed; '‘but if it has hurt your feelings, 
Alec — I wish — I wish it wasn’t told. Don’t 
feel bad, Alec— do n’t— and I ’ll give you— yes, I 
will— I ’ll give you half my grandmother !” 


46 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


Now this was a large offer for Robert, whose 
grandmother was the idol of his soul. Mrs. 
Ainslie spoke : 

“ I am not so happy as to be any little lad’s 
grandmother,” she said, “ and perhaps God has 
sent this lovely lad to me. Alec, I will take you 
for my boy. You shall keep your own name, 
the name of honest, godly, loving parents, but 
you shall be my boy from this hour. Will you 
be a loving and obedient boy to me, and im- 
prove the advantages that God enables me to 
give you?” 

Alec rose and spoke earnestly : “Oh, madam, 
yes, by the help of the good God.” 

When for a few moments the children had 
crowded about Alec, telling him how very fortu- 
nate he was, and asking if he were not “ real 
happy,” and the elders had assured Mrs. Ainslie 
of their sympathy and interest in this good work 
which she had undertaken, Mr. Vance said, “ I 
am sure a blessing will follow you in this, Mrs. 
Ainslie. I knew a lady once who made such a 
choice, of mothering a little lad whom Provi- 
dence put in her way in the hour of his great 
need, and they have been since then a happy 
mother and son.” 

“Tell us the story,” cried Cicely Lyman. 
“ Let it be your story for to-night. There is 
time for one more before nine o’clock.” 


THE LA WS OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 


47 


“ We should be glad to hear it ; and it would 
be very suitable, following this story and deci- 
sion by Mrs. Ainslie,” said Mrs. Hastings. 

“ I was once a reporter on a city paper,” said 
Mr. Vance. “It was during my junior and!) 
senior years in college, and the reporting was 
■ one of the ways I took to provide for my colle- 
I giate expenses. I made a specialty of writing 
' up touching domestic or personal incidents. 
This story which I shall now tell you I will 
repeat almost as I wrote it for my paper, add- 
ing the close as I have added it once and again 
when I have recited it at entertainments in elo- 
cution. A very simple study in fact it is, as 
you will find ; but it has interested and perhaps 
j helped others, and so I venture to offer it to 
you. I have called it 

I “ME ’n’ BOSE.” 

A sharp bark testified to the presence of a 
i dog in the court-room. 

I “ Whose dog is that?” asked Justice Murray. 

“ Mine,” said the prisoner, with aplomb, and 
I his small brown fist gripped the hair on the 
I dog’s neck. 

A curly brown-haired, brown-eyed boy ; a 
curly brown-haired, brown-eyed dog. 

“ What have you been doing ?” demanded 
the justice. 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


“ Noffin,” replied the boy with conviction. 

X Vagrancy,” said the big blue-coated man. 

“ Now, Jedge,” remonstrated the prisoner, 
“ ’t aint vagrancy, nor no harm, is it, jes’ to sleep 
in a box w’en you have to, ’long of Miss Rose 
bein’ gone to the country an’ her room locked 
up?” 

“ Did a woman leave a child of your age 
locked out of his home in November? How 
does she know that she will find you when she 
comes back ?” 

“Mebby she wouldn’t be pertic’lar if she 
did n’t. It does make her room sort of crowdy, 
me ’n’ Bose ; an’ w’en she gives me one of her 
quilts, w’y, she ’s cold, likely. I said she needn’t 
give me no kiver. It ’s warmer on her floor 
’thout kiver than lyin’ in boxes ’thout ; an’ 
that ’s ’bout the size of it.” 

“ Where is this Miss Rose ?” 

“ Gone to the country for her health.” 

“ Where?” 

“ County Farm.” 

“You’ll be much better off in the House of 
Refuge, or the Reform School, or the Industrial 
Farm—” 

“No, I would n’t,” said the prisoner emphat- 
ically. “Them’s the places for bad ones. I 
ain’t a bad one. Me ’n’ Bose is all right ; ain’t 
we, Bose ?” 


THE LA WS OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 


49 


Bose assented, waving his bushy brown tail — . 
we had almost said vociferously, so intense was 
the affirmation conveyed by the action. 

“ We don’t do a bad thing. You sends kids 
that fights, an’ prigs, an* gets biled, to them 
places. Me ’n’ Bose ain’t that sort ; an’ we ain’t 
goin’ !” 

After this defence the officer thought best to 
proffer a more definite charge. 

“Have you paid your dog tax? You have 
broken the law against letting dogs run at large.” 

“ I do n’t have to pay dog tax, ’cause I never 
I bought him. You see, Jedge, it was 'jes’ this 
I way : I was walkin’ ’long Water Street when 
up comes this dog an’ puts his cold nose right 
into my hand, an’ my hand kinder went to 
patting his head ; an’ we ’ve been together jes’ 

I like brothers ever since ; ’cause I ain’t got no 
folks, an’ he ain’t. I didn’t know his name, so 
I called him Bose, an’ he liked it ; did n’t you, 
Bose ?” 

The dog, settled upon his haunches, gave an 
affirmative double rap on the floor with his tail. 

“ The dog may go to the pound. Put the 
boy in a cell until the Children’s Aid Society 
can look after him.” 

“ No, no, Jedge !” shrieked the boy, great 
tears welling into his brown eyes, a note of 
agony in his voice. “ No, I can’t be put from 
4 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


50 

Bose ! Don’t take him from me, Jedge ! Him 
an’ me ’s all alone in the world ; ain’t we, Bose ?” 

Bose licked the face bent toward him and 
gave a consenting howl, 

“ I cannot send a dog to jail, and they wont 
take him at a Reform School,” said the Judge. 

Then let me go to the pound with him,” 
cried the boy eagerly. Say I may, Jedge.” 

“ Why, boy, if you go to the pound you ’ll be 
put in the cage with the dogs and to-morrow 
you ’d be drowned,” said the Justice, smiling. 

“ Never mind ; I wont care, so me ’n’ Bose 
keeps together. If yer sends him off from me 
he ’ll howl orful ! He wont mind drowndin’ so 
much if you slings us in together ; an’ I wont 
mind it either, Jedge, not a mite his lips quiv- 
ered. “ It ’d soon be over ; an’, yer see, cold 
weather ’s cornin’ on, an’ I ain’t got no folks nor 
no shoes, an it ’s so hard to get a thing to eat. 
I ’d hate dreadful to see Bose’s bones poked 
through his skin.” He passed his hand reflect- 
ively along Bose’s shoulder, and Bose considered 
the situation, with his head on one side, one ear 
cocked up, and the other trailing down like a 
flag at half-mast. 

'‘Yer see, Jedge, I tried twict to get the 
shekels to buy a shoe-black’s kit an’ make my 
livin’ ; but when I ’d most got the dust some one 
stole it off me. Nobody dast steal from me 


THE LA WS OF THE HOUSEHOLD, 


61 

when Bose is ’round ; but since I had him I jes’ 
couldn’t earn only our grub. We ’s both pretty 
hungry, an’ times has been orful hard; ain’t 
■ they, Jedge?” 

“ They ’ll be harder come winter, my lad.” 

“ I ’ve tried to set up for a newsboy, too. If 
you ’ll let me ’n’ Bose off mebby we ’ll hev bet- 
ter times an’ make it yet. I can’t do noffin’ if 
Bose ain’t along. He do n’t let nobody whale 
me nor noffin. We ’s like brothers; ain’t we, 
Bose?” 

Bose’s brown tail wagged frantically. 

“ How old are you ?” 

“ I dunno ; mebby ’bout ’leven.” 

“ Where did you come from ?” 

My folks all got drownded six year back, 
when the flood was up the river. Some other 
folks brung me to the city, an’ then they lit out, 
an’ — I ’ve — been round, since.” 

“ What is your name ?” 

I “ Richard.” 

I “ Richard what ? What is your family name ?” 

The brown eyes looked fixedly into vacuity, 

I the whole well-set-up little figure became tense 
j in the effort to redintegrate the broken sequence 
of his memories and recover his lost self from 
the depths of his consciousness. He slowly 
shook his head. 

“ Maybe I ’d better put them both in the cell 


5 ^ 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 


until the pound wagon comes round,” said the 
policeman, with a sly wink at the justice. 

“ Yes, yes, that ’s right ! Do n’t part me ’n’ 
Bose.” Bose gave a short sharp bark, as if he 
considered the affair well settled, rose and shook 
himself. 

The boy’s big honest brown eyes looked 
frankly at the disposer of his fate. 

“ Come, then,” said the policeman. 

“Good-by, Jedge. Thanky, Jedge,” cried 
the little man cheerily, as he went off, still 
clinching the brown silky hair on his dog’s neck. 

The big officer put his double charge into a 
cell. It was warm and clean. The boy prompt- 
ly lay down on the floor, clasped his arms under 
his head, and took up the thread of those slum- 
bers broken earlier in the morning by his arrest. 
The dog, crouching by his side, laid his head on 
his master’s chest, put one ear up in an attitude 
of expectancy, trailed the other low, as a banner 
in the dust, and so remained on guard, growling 
sotto voce if any one neared the half-open door. 

The reporter, who had been making a telling 
item of “ Me ’n’ Bose,” lounged into the street, 
then looked alert, and lifted his hat to Mrs. Ran- 
dolph Nugent. 

“ I have an item here that will suit you ex- 
actly.” He held forth his tablet with “ Me ’n’- 
Bose ” fairly written out for the printer. 


THE LA WS OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 


53 

“ He is asleep in there now, with his ‘ brother 
Bose ’ lying on his breast.” 

Mrs. Nugent entered the police station. She 
paused on the door-sill with a little flush of hesi- 
tation. The Lieutenant of Police privately drop- 
ped his cigar into a box behind his desk ; the 
Sergeant took his feet from the top of the stove, 
and two “ blue-coats,” seemingly asleep on leath- 
er sofas, awoke and sat up. 

Mrs. Randolph Nugent treated them to a 
smile apiece, after which largess she remarked, 
“ I came to see that boy and dog.” 

“ Here they are,” said the Sergeant, pushing 
the cell door wider open. At sight of the blue- 
coat Bose gave a long, low warning note, in- 
tended to strike terror to the soul of an invader. 
It was a deep, continuous, interior, attenuating 
sound, like the last moaning of an organ when 
the fingers have left the keys. The Sergeant 
gave place to Mrs. Nugent. She illuminated 
Richard and Bose with a smile. Bose fell into 
silence, dropped the cocked-up ear, elevated the 
one that was at half-mast, put both in the attitude 
of content, rose, laid his brown throat against 
Mrs. Nugent’s gown, fixed his brown eyes on 
hers, and began a pantomime. His eyes were 
steadfast, his muzzle quivered, his tail moved 
slowly through an arc of half a circle, he 
breathed deeply. 


54 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 


Mrs. Nugent understood him ; she was on 
terms of intimacy with dogs, cats, and small boys. 
She recognized the discourse of Bose as made 
up of explanation, petition, and assurances of 
high respectability. Bose saw assent in her 
eyes. He returned to Richard, gently sniffed at 
his throat, licked his ear, and laid his nose on 
the boy’s nose. The lad sat up, alert. 

Here was the wagon to take him to the pound 
with Bose ! Then he realized the gracious pres- 
ence in the doorway, rose, stood at “ attention ” 
with his hand on the dog’s neck. 

“ I came,” said Mrs. Nugent, “ to ask you and 
Bose to make me a visit.” 

“ All right ! Come on, Bose !” said Richard, 
for here was a Christian who said — “ and Bose"' 
They departed under a fire of respectful smiles 
of relief from the representatives of the police 
force. 

Justice Murray came in with a big silver 
dollar. There had been an intense pathos 
in that “ Good-by, Jedge ; thanky !” and the 
“Times is hard; ain’t they, Jedge?” of the 
little man. 

“ I thought I ’d set him up in the shoe-black- 
ing business,” he explained. 

“ They ’re gone — with Mrs. Nugent.” 

“ Mrs. Randolph Nugent ? Oh, then they ’re 
all right.” 


THE LA WS OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 


55 

“ Hornin’, ma’am ; brought me another 
stray?” 

Mrs. Nugent handed over boy and dog to a 
very big and dignified negro barber, splendid in 
white shirt, white apron, white jacket, and with 
an orange silk necktie pulled through an enor- 
' mous ring.. 

“ Now, my little man, you see, here ’s soap, 
and towels and tub ; you pull this out to let off 
1 . the water, and you turn this on for hot, and this 
for cold. So go for yourself now.” 

What a most delightful china tub ; what de- 
licious-smelling soap, what warm floods that cra- 
dled and soothed and made supple the wander- 
er’s little body ! Bose, with his nose over the 
edge of the tub, endured as long as possible the 
enticing spectacle, then he flounced in with a 
mighty splash. 

“ Now we ’ll go for you,” said Richard, so the 
brown coat was soaped and rubbed until Bose 
had enough of it, and leaped to the floor shaking 
himself. 

That did not matter : the room was lined with 
china tiles. Bose repaired to the register and 
alternately warmed and shook himself as if he 
had taken baths all his life. Richard ran off the 
water from the tub ; ran in more. Oh, blessed 
water ! Every fibre of his frame was relaxed and 
comforted. Could he ever be cold and aching 


jd THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

again ! Rub, snap, dive, splash, spatter ! The 
door opened, a black hand introduced to the 
room a complete suit of clothes with the remark, | 
“ Dress yo’sef, youngster,” and the little heap ^ 
of dusty ragged exuviae disappeared for ever. ^ 
There lay an under suit of red flannel, long i 
black hose, gray jacket and trowsers, and a red 
tie. 


How could one boy wear so many clothes ? 
Richard thrust his head into the hall, calling, 
“ Ho ! Mister ! I dun’no how to get into two 
suits to onct.” 

The big black man had him dressed, stock- 
ings braced up, tie knotted, in short order. Then 
into the barber’s chair, and his hair was sham- 
pooed, combed, trimmed, while a man but- 
toned his feet into such a pair of shoes as forced 
him to say, “ Reg’lar swell ; ain’t them, Bose !” 

He was in a street car with Mrs. Nugent. 
He felt an awful goneness ; the world grew 
dim. Mrs. Nugent gave him a big fresh bis- 
cuit, Bose, between Richard’s knees, opened wide 
his jaws and, as if it had been a fly, snapped 
down the half biscuit which Richard gave him. 
Richard ate his half slowly, savoring every 
crumb. What is half a biscuit after a twenty- 
four hours’ fast? With two chocolate creams 
it sufficed to stay nature for the time, and the 
world brightened. 


I 


4 

u 

i 




J 

3 


i 


\ 

t 

J 

I 


{ 


THE LA WS OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 


57 


The car stopped, a door opened, Richard 
was left perched on the extreme edge of a 
plush-covered chair, Bose erect between his own- 
er’s knees. Richard surveyed the room. “ Looks 
like a furniture store, an’ a picter window, an’ 
a china shop, an’ a carpet an’ curtain place, all 
rolled into one ; do n’t it, Bose ?” he remarked. 

Bose flapped an affirmative ear. Then Rich- 
ard saw opposite him a handsome well-got-up 
boy, with a brown dog between his knees. 
Richard was sociable ; he inquired affably, “ What 
is your dog’s name ?” 

The boy looked at him blandly, but did not 
speak. Bose, a natural gentleman, resented 
such rude silence ; he gave a reproving bark ; 
not a loud street bark : it came from the root 
of his tongue, not from the root of his tail. 
Richard perceived that he could see that other 
dog bark but could not hear him. “ Sho !” he 
said, and blushed. 

Then a sudden light flashed on his mind, and 
he giggled, illustrating and confirming Hobbes’ 
theory of laughter. 

Mrs. Nugent came back and held out her 
hand. “Come to dinner, Richard. Send Bose 
with Mary ; she will give him . plenty of bread 
and meat.” 

That table ! Dare he sit down ? White 
napery, china, silver, a tall central bouquet. 


S8 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

Mrs. Nugent cast down her eyes and said a 
few soft words, not as though complaining of 
the dinner ; oh, no ; she seemed to be thanking 
some One who was not there. 

The sight and smell of food brought back 
that strange goneness and dimness. On his 
plate stood a cup of brown, warm, enticing drink. 

Mrs. Nugent said, “ Drink your beef tea, 
Richard.” 

When he drank it he was so strengthened that 
he could eat his dinner. Yes, two dinners ; for 
one dinner being ended straightway the maid 
cleared the table, gathered the crumbs up into 
a silver tray, and set forth — was there ever the 
like ! — another dinner, “ all the same as a baker- 
shop window !” 

“ She asked you an’ me, Bose, to stop for a 
week ; an’ I tol’ her I ’d learned to read off’n 
signs, an’ posters, an’ sech.” Thus Richard, dur- 
ing the first opportunity for private conference 
with his dog. 

The week passed, and another and another, 
and still “ Me ’n’ Bose ” were under the roof of 
Mrs. Randolph Nugent. 

Over six years later a young collegian ran 
briskly up Mrs. Nugent’s front steps one April 
day; a dignified dog with advanced doghood 
stood waiting for him. 

It was the old story told to Justice Murray : 


THE LA WS OF THE HOUSEHOLD. 


59 


[ “He held up his cold nose and put it into my 
hand and my hand dropped down and began to 
I pat his head.” 

I Then this pair, “Me ’n’ Bose,” stood at “at- 
I tention ” waiting for a lady who was coming 
1 down the street. 

“ One hundred in my Latin grade, mother !” 

“ Yap, yap, I woof !” said Bose. All his grades 
were 100. 

There was a general applause when Mr. 
Vance finished ; the strain of feelings occa- 
sioned by the incident of Mrs. Ainslie and Alec 
was now relieved. 

“ Children !” said Madame. 

The clock hands pointed to nine exactly. 

* The youthful procession began to file towards 
the stairs. There was a loud knocking at the 
side door and an inquiry-and-warning bark from 
, the house-dog. Ezra went from the kitchen to 
. the door, and a row of curly heads and bright 
i eyes leaned over the balluster to investigate. 

I “Who is this that rides so late?” hummed 
i Cicely. 

I “ My good man, can I find shelter here ?” said 
I a voice. “ I find the big bridge barred as unsafe, 

! and see the water shining across the lowlands 
where I meant to put up. I am late, for the 
water has turned me back in several directions. 


6o THE HOUSE ON THE BL UFF. 

I am a colporter ; my name is White : Rev. Lucas 
White. I have my nag and buggy and a load 
of books at your gate.’' 

“ Come in, sir, come in ! Madame Baron will 
make you welcome. It has rained again and 
you are wet, sir. There ’s a wood fire in the 
dining-room, and the maid will bring you some 
hot tea. Come in. I ’ll look after the horse and 
bring in your luggage. This way. I ’ll go 
speak to the Madame and order the tea. The 
house is full, but there is always room here for 
more.” 

“ Keziah said some more would be sure to 
come,” said Cicely. “ I wonder if this one is 
the last.” 

“ Be sure not,” said Robert. “ Good-night 
all.” 


THE LEVYING OF A TAX. 


6i 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE LEVYING OF A TAX. 

“ That Pentecost when utterance clear 
To all men shall be given ; 

When all can say * My brother ’ here, 

And hear ‘ My son ’ from heaven.” 

The next morning Ezra appointed the boys 
to fill the big kindling-wood box in the kitchen. 
Ben and Ned were to chop, and Robert to carry 
in. “And mind,” said Ezra, “that yon make a 
solid full box of it, so that we will not hear any 
unseemly sounds of cutting and carrying wood 
on the Sabbath-day.” 

This remark, and the sight of the kitchen, 
bright and neat, with Keziah and Cicely making 
apple-pies, caused it to appear to Robert that to 
sit on the edge of the wood-box and chat would 
be much more agreeable than to carry arm-loads 
of sticks. 

“ Let me tell you a good joke on my mam- 
ma,” he said. “ Mamma hired an old black 
man to cut some wood, and as she is never hard 
on any body she let him take his time about it.” 

“ As you are doing now,” quoth Cicely. 


62 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

“On Sunday morning, about five, mamma 
heard a saw going. A carpenter man had moved 
into a house by our back lane, and when the 
sawing woke up mamma she said to herself, 
‘ Oh my, what a pity that this is a Sabbath-break- 
ing carpenter ; doing work on Sunday !’ And 
she made up her mind to go during the week 
and invite the children to Sunday-school and 
the man and his wife to our church, if they did 
not belong anywhere else ; and so she did. Next 
Sunday, very early, there was the sawing again. 
Mamma felt miserable about it, and said to her- 
self, ‘ This week I will take over a nice book or 
two, and some tracts about the Sabbath ; and 
1 11 offer to lend them our religious papers. 
Then, if all that does not stop the Sunday work, 
1 11 have to speak to them about it.’ Well, 
next Sunday, saw, saw, saw ! Papa was at home 
then— he had been away— and he sat up in 
bed and said, ‘What fellow is that working 
.in my back yard on Sunday?’ Mamma said, 
‘ Oh, no one would work here Sunday ; I ’m 
so sorry that Mr. Clough does it regularly.’ 
‘Clough!’ says papa, ‘not a bit of it. He is a 
good fellow, and I ’m sure he is sound asleep 
this minute, unless that sawing in our yard is 
keeping him awake.’ 

“So up jumped papa, and into his gown and 
shoes, and went out, and there was mamma’s 


THE LEVYING OF A TAX. 63 

old black man doing our work early Sunday, 
when he made sure mamma and Nurse Ailing 
and our old Betty were all sound asleep. So 
we were the people who had to apologize to the 
neighborhood for what Ezra calls ‘ unseemly 
sounds on the Sabbath Day.’ ” 

Cicely laughed, but Keziah said solemnly : 
“What kind of fairness is there, Robert, for 
you to sit here talking while the other boys 
work ?’’ 

“ I ’ll go to work this very, very, minute,” 
said Robert. 

Just then the bell rang, and it occurred to 
him that it would be more fun to go to the front 
door than to the wood-pile. He skipped into 
the hall, but Ezra in the butler’s pantry had al- 
ready heard the summons and was before him. 
Robert concluded to forsake good manners and 
follow. Ezra threw open the door, and Robert 
saw a tall, well-dressed gentleman with a little 
black bag in his hand, while behind him, down 
at the bridle-path gate, appeared the head of a 
horse. 

“I am compelled to ask hospitality here,” 
said the stranger. “ I am Mr. Tracy, and ex- 
pected to preach in the church across the river. 
I find the bridge has a sign, ‘ Dangerous,’ upon 
it, and if my eyes do not deceive me the water 
over there is up to the church steps. I reached 


64 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


here by swimming my horse over Doe’s Fork, 
but at the rate the water is rising I know I 
could not swim him back.” 

“ I can’t see how you ever got so far as the 
Fork, sir.” 

“ I came on the cars to Belle Point ; there 
the train was stopped because the bridge was 
gone. A man took me over the Belle branch 
in a skiff, and I hired a horse and came on.” 

“ Mr. Danforth was speaking of you, sir, 
this very morning. He thought you would not 
try to come, on account of the water. Mr. Dan- 
forth, Mr. Vance, and the Rev. Mr. White are 
in the library, and they will be glad to see you,” 
said Ezra. 

Here Robert glided between Ezra and the 
guest, laughing, and stretching his arms across 
the door-way. “Who comes here has to pay!” 
he cried, leaning back, and looking up in the 
gentleman’s face, his eyes shining and the smile 
which always won his way covering his face with 
dimples. 

“ Master Robert ! Wont your grandmother 
be scandalized !” cried Ezra. 

Mr. Tracy, a little surprised, smiled and said, 
“ Of course I can pay, my little man.” 

“ Maybe you won’t want to when you know 
what it is,” said Robert. “ Every one who stays 
here has to tell a story, or maybe more. We 


THE LEVYING OF A TAX, 63 

have stories every evening ; the most splendid 
ones you ever heard.” 

“ I am not likely,” said Mr. Tracy, ‘‘to come 
up to a mark so high as that ; but I will do my 
very best.” 

“ Robert, will you have done with your non- 
sense and let the gentleman in, or I shall speak 
to the Madame !” Robert .politely turned about 
and threw open the door of the library, while 
Ezra took the new visitor’s bag. 

That evening, when the family were all to- 
gether after tea, Robert was in great anxiety 
lest Mr. Tracy should begin to discuss church 
matters with Mr. Danforth, Mr. White should 
join them, and all the grown people be drawn 
into the conversation, thus preventing the 
longed-for stories. Immediately he went up to 
Mr. Tracy and said gently, “You know you 
promised to pay a story— as they all do.” 

“ But are you resolved to levy the tax on me 
the very first evening I am here ? Would it not 
be better for me to know what kind of stories 
are to be told 

“ Last night,” said Mr. Vance, “ our stories 
fell into the line of the most beautiful of all 
charities — the adoption of children into childless 
homes. There are so many homeless little ones, 
and so many childless homes, that it is a pity 
they were not more often brought together. 

5 


66 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

Last evening we not only had the stories but 
we had a practical application of the principle, 
for Mrs. Ainsle became responsible for the little 
lad who sits beside her. She hopes to see him 
become, under her care, a good, useful and hap- 
py man.” 

“ If you are not tired of the theme,” said 
Mr. Tracy, “ I think I can recall a fact of that 
kind which may bear repeating.” 

“ It will be welcome, I know,” said Mr. Vance. 
“We are all in the spirit of that text — ‘ Whoso 
receiveth one such little child in My name re- 
ceive th Me.’ ” 

Robert was now in the full glory of having 
commanded the situation: he had prevented, 
he thought, a long “ grown-up discussion,” in 
which he could not share, and he had assured 
that delight of his soul — a story. He wavered 
a little between sitting as close as possible to the 
narrator or in his usual place, as close as possible 
to his grandmother. Habit prevailed. He took 
his little chair to Madame’s side and laid his 
hand in her lap. It was a fair picture of lovely, 
happy childhood and gracious age in full pos- 
session of the powers of prime. Mr. Tracy 
paused a moment, thinking of that “ crown of 
glory, if found in the way of righteousness,” 
and of those cheery calls of the Psalmist from 
the “ border - land :” “They shall bring forth 


THE LEVYING OF A TAX. 67 

fruit in old age “ I have been young, and now 
am old, yet never have I seen the righteous for- 
saken with the prayer, “ When I am old, O 
God, forsake me not,” and the cheering answer, 
“ Even to your old age, I am he.” 

Then he retraced his memories for a mo- 
ment, and said, “ My story is called 

“ TREASURE FOUND IN A FIELD.” 

“ The Crowd ” they called them in Dale ton — 
eight boys, nearly of an age. They were always 
together : in the same classes at school and 
Sunday-school ; their families were friends ; the 
affair of one of “ The Crowd ” was the affair 
of all. “The Crowd” earned their own spend- 
ing money. In January they began earning 
means for a Fourth of July celebration ; that 
over, they began again to earn wherewithal for 
Christmas festivities. 

Ben Ford was the treasurer, the largest, the 
leader of “The Crowd.” Slow in speech and 
in making up his mind, slow to wrath, lion- 
like when roused, endlessly resolute when his 
mind was once made up, honest, a very tender 
heart under his blunt big-boyishness— this was 
Ben. 

In April their school had a three days’ vaca- 
tion — a harvest-time for “ The Crowd.” Before 
and after school the boys made garden, tidied 


68 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


yards, whitewashed fences for their home folks, 
but the three holidays were theirs by prescrip- 
tive right. They usually betook themselves to 
Sassafras Hill, a half-cleared high pasture land 
with a wood and a brook below it. There the 
boys dug for sassafras roots and bloodroot, 
made spoil of wild -cherry bark and slippery 
elm, and tied fresh wintergreen into dainty 
bunches. All this booty was sent to a druggist 
in the town, a dozen miles away, and the boys 
rejoiced in gains. 

The holidays had come round, and by seven 
in the morning the boys were off with pails, 
bags, baskets, knives, towels — a jolly, uproarious 
crowd. Miss Betsey wondered “ if ever they 
had a sensible thought in their heads.” Widely 
scattered over the broad pasture-land, the boys 
dug for the spicy roots interlaced under the 
surface. A tremendous shout from Ben rallied 
them to him : there was Ben, knife in hand, 
gazing at something on a heap of dead leaves 
behind a little clump of bushes. The some- 
thing was a pitiful boy-baby about fourteen 
months old, thin, scared, dressed in a soiled old 
woolen frock and stockings, a red hood and a 
pair of broken shoes. As the boys gathered, 
staring, as a drove of young bullocks will stare 
in a circle at some small foolish thing unseen 
before, the poor baby’s drooping lip trembled 


THE LEVYING OF A TAX. 6p 

tears rolled over its grimy face and terrified sobs 
shook its little bosom. 

“ Its folks must be up here hunting sassa- 
fras/' cried Ned Brown, looking far and wide. 

“ No, sir,” said Frank Bell; “we can see for 
three miles over the country and no one is in 
sight, and no one has been since we came here.” 

Ben Ford lifted the baby. “ Don’t cry,” he 
said gently, holding it close. 

“ Dirty little thing ! Put it down, Ben ! 
You ’ll get some disease !” cried Joe Long. 

“ Here ’s a paper on its back !” said John 
Ray, the minister’s son. Let ’s see : 'Not wanted 
eny mor' Why, if someone hasn’t gone and left 
the baby! I ’m glad I didn’t have such cold- 
blooded folks as that !” 

“ The poor kid might have starved or frozen 
before it was found,” said Tom Adams. 

“ What are you going to do with it, Ben ? 
We are wasting a lot of time,” said Luke 
Chase. 

Ben was marching down hill, baby in arms. 
The boys followed him to the lunch-baskets by 
the brook. Ben took a towel from his basket, 
and after vigorous washing and rubbing, pre- 
sented to view a baby with clean face, arms and 
feet, its garments straightened, and his own big, 
clean, red bandanna pinned shawl-wise about its 
shoulders. “ Who ’s got a comb ?” 


70 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

Joe Long presented a wooden sample of the 
required implement, and Ben combed the baby’s 
yellow curls. 

“ He ! he ! he ! did n’t know you were such a 
Nancy, Ben. You ought to hire out for a child’s 
nurse,” said Luke Chase. 

Ben took from his basket a biscuit and a 
bottle of milk and fed the famished little one. 

“ Come along,” said Luke ; “ this wont fetch 
us any money. Are we going to spend all day 
on this young one ?” 

Ben spread out his overcoat and laid the 
child snugly folded in it. The little creature 
shut its eyes with a sigh of content and the 
boys dispersed to their work. At noon they 
reassembled for lunch. Ben placed the baby 
between his knees and bestowed upon him a 
slice of buttered bread. 

“ Here ’s a cake for him,” said one. 

“ Here ’s a pickle.” 

“ Here, give him this sandwich.” 

“ Have a piece of pie, kiddy ?” 

These offers were made in good faith. 

“ Pshaw, a baby can’t eat those things,” said 
Ben. 

“ How do you know what a baby can eat ?” 
asked Tom Adams. 

I read a piece about it in a paper, and I ’ve 
heard mother and grandmother talk.” 


THE LEVYING OF A TAX, 71 

“ If you spend so much time on that young 
one you wont gather much,” said Luke Chase 
sulkily. 

“ I Ve gathered more than you have,” said 
Ben, flushing. “ I always do. Would any of 
you leave the baby to die under that bush? 
You wouldn’t yourself, Luke.” 

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t find him; he is 
none of my business,” said Luke. 

“As long as he is lost and can’t help him- 
self,” said John Ray, “ he is all our business.” 

The foundling seemed unaccustomed to much 
care or petting. Satisfied with being fed and 
wrapped in Ben’s coat it lay quiet while the 
boys renewed their gathering; and watched, 
unafraid, while they made bundles of bark and 
bunches of wintergreen. Finally it was six 
o’clock, and the line of march was to be formed 
for home. 

“ What are you going to do with that young- 
one ?” demanded Luke. 

“ Take it along, of course,” said Ben. “ Did 
not we find a rabbit here once with a broken 
leg? We took it home and cured it. We took 
home a quail with a broken wing, and a little 
stray puppy. Wouldn’t we do as much for a 
child ?” 

“ There was some fun in those things,” said 
Luke, “and they were easy to take care of.” 


72 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 


“Doesn’t the Bible say how much more is 
a person worth than a sheep ?” said John Ray. 

The boys took up their luggage and big Ben 
put the baby on his shoulder. Luke Chase was 
out of humor and showing at his worst. 

“ Better have it call you ‘ daddy,’ Ben. Wont 
folks laugh when they see you coming into 
town that way! I wish the youngone would 
begin to howl ! Say, let us not call him Ben, 
but Nancy.’’ 

Luke was always a bit jealous of Ben. 

“ I ’ve a mind to set the kid down while I 
show you I ’ve got a strong arm, Nancy or not,’’ 
said Ben scowling at Luke. 

“Stop that, you two,’’ said John; “do you 
know that Ben, walking on there carrying that 
little thing, makes me think of the piece we 
sang in Sunday-school yesterday, and the verses 
we sung — about ‘ when he findeth it, he layeth 
it on his shoulder, rejoicing.’ ’’ 

“ That ’s so,” said Frank Bell. 

“ Out on the mountains bleak and bare, 

Away from the tender Shepherd’s care.” 

“Seems as if we and our folks were like the. 
‘ninety and nine that safely lay,’” said Joe 
Long, “ and one poor little thing alone and de- 
serted ! I say, it was lucky we went up there.” 

“ Mighty pretty specimen of a lamb : that ’s 
all I can say,” sneered Luke. 


THE LEVYING OF A TAX, 


73 


“ As far as that goes,” said Ben facing about, 
his eyes glowing, “ we are none of us very pretty 
specimens, and there was n’t much in any of us 
but our being forlorn to bring the Shepherd to 
come after us.” 

“It wasn’t whether we were pretty speci- 
mens, it was his own goodness,” said John Ray, 
“ and what is in my mind, boys, is that verse, 
‘ Whoso receiveth one such little child in my 
name receiveth me.’ What do you make of 
that ?” 

“Oh, I say,” shouted Tom,* “I’ve got the 
j oiliest idea ! When we go out gathering, you 
know, it is a partnership and Ben is treasurer 
and we all share even ; let us throw the baby 
into the common lot and keep him in partner- 
ship, and raise him up ; and as Ben is treasurer 
and takes to youngsters he can have the charge, 
and we ’ll all chip in and do the raising and 
providing.” 

“ Hur-r-r-ray !” yelled the boys. “ Whoop 
la !” 

“ It will take about all the money we make,” 
said Luke Chase, who had not cheered. 

“ Might be the best spent of all we ever 
had,” said Joe Long thoughtfully. 

“ Wont cost much at first,” said Ned Brown ; 
“ we ’ll all go to our mothers for some clothes, 
and collect plenty without any trouble. Then 


74 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


there will be shoes and so on, and if Ben’s 
mother and grandmother don’t want to keep 
the baby we ’ll throw in our money and board 
it.” 

“ Take all our money, and we wont have any 
Fourth !” suggested Luke Chase. 

“ Ha, ha, ha ! we ’ll name the kid ‘ Fourth,’ 
and have him instead,” said Tom Adams. 

“What shall we name him?” asked Ben. 

A dozen names were proposed and rejected. 

“ Father has a book called ‘ Thesaurus,’ ” said 
John Ray ; “ he says it means Treasure. Why 
can’t we call the baby Thesaurus? Treasure, 
you know : ‘ Treasure found in a field.’ ” 

“ Ho, ho, ho ! he, he, he !” roared the boys, 
“ what a name !” “ Here, Thesaurus !” “ Run, 

Thesaurus!” “Come, Thesaurus!” “If you 
don’t behave you’ll get a clip. Thesaurus!” 
“ What a jaw-breaker of a name. Thesaurus !” 

“ We can call him * Thes,’ for short,” said 
Ben, whose best friend John Ray was. 

“ So we can.” “ That setttles it !” “ Thes !” 
“ Look sharp, Thes !” “ Say, please, Thes !” 

“ Do n’t cry, Thes.” “ Be a man, Thes!” and to 
relieve their feelings all the boys but Ben, who 
was burdened with the baby, turned hand- 
springs and vaulted over the nearest fence sev- 
eral times. Even Luke warmed up and began 
to take an interest. 


THE LEVYING OF A TAX. 


75 


Do you suppose your mother will let you 
keep the baby?” he asked Ben. 

“Yes,” said Ben ; “ there are only us three, 
mother and grandmother with me, and we all 
like children. Besides, what else could we do? 
Some one has to take the poor little thing, and 
mother and grandmother are always ready to 
do good.” 

“Some of our baby’s outgrown clothes will 
just fit it,” said Ned Brown, “ I ’ll go home for 
them. Want some new clothes, Thes ?” 

Thus the boys viewed their treasure with 
growing favor. 

“ See here,” said John Ray : “ in England all 
treasure found in a field is the king’s. This 
ought to be so. This baby must belong to the 
King, you know. I mean that we must be care- 
ful to make him good ; do n’t you see ?” 

“ Maybe his people were thieves,” said 
Luke. 

“ Perhaps ; and maybe not. He need not 
know about that; we can teach him what is 
right and straight.” 

“ Provided we are right and straight our- 
selves ; have n’t we a pretty big contract on our 
hands?” said Frank. 

“ The sermon last Sunday said there was a 
Silent Partner that helped all along.” 

Daleton felt a quiver of excitement when 


76 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


“ The Crowd ” brought home that baby, but the 
Daleton mothers rose nobly to the occasion. 
What was needed for the present was done, and 
day by day “ The Crowd’s ” plan worked so well 
that Thesaurus is now a fine honest lad of ten, 
and “ The Crowd,” now in business or college, 
are still bringing up their “found boy” for the 
King. 

Robert gave a sigh of deep content. 

“ Did it truly happen, Mr. Tracy ?” asked 
Cicely. 

“ I was that minister’s son; one of the crowd.” 

“Thank you very much, Mr. Tracy,” said 
several. 

Robert looked anxiously at the clock ; there 
surely was time for “just one more,” his usual 
plea when tales were on the tapis. How happy 
he was to hear Miss Eunice say, “That story 
reminds me of Mrs. Clifford Austen’s boy — 
Henry.” 

“Why, isn’t Henry their own boy?” asked 
Ned. “I saw him at a Fourth of July picnic 
last year. He is real nice ; but I never guessed 
he was adopted.” 

“Oh, it is no secret. They call him Aus- 
ten for convenience, and I think the love is as 
strong as if the tie was of blood. Mrs. Aus- 
ten told me the story, and as I liked it I wrote 


THE LEVYING OF A TAX. 


77 


it out. It is short, but if you wish I will read it 
to you. It is in my desk.” 

“ I ’m sure we shall all be glad to hear it, 
Eunice,” said Mrs. Lyman and Mrs. Hastings. 

I ’m sorry it is short,” said Robert. “ That 
is the fault of most of Cousin Eunice’s stories ; 
that, and that she puts too much talk in them 
very often — and moral. Sometime, Cousin 
Eunice, I will show you just how to write a 
story.” 

“ I know a little boy who thinks too much of 
his own opinions,” whispered grandma very 
softly in Robert’s ear ; but as she gave his cheek 
a little consoling pat he did not feel so much 
grieved, and gently rested his head against her 
arm. 

“ I call my story,” said Miss Eunice, 

‘'THE LONELY BOY.” 

“ Ruth, do n’t you go out on the piazza ; 
there ’s a boy there,” warned Betty. 

Ruth’s mamma was in the kitchen, making a 
pudding, and heard Betty’s warning. It was not 
well to make Ruth cowardly or ungracious, so 
mamma said, “ The boy will not harm my little 
girl ; perhaps you can make him happier by 
smiling kindly at him.” 

Ruth ran out and found a small ragged lad 
eating the big dinner given him. 


78 THE HO USE ON THE BL UFF. 

“ You is pretty hungry,” said Ruth. 

“ Awful,” said the boy. 

“ Why does n’t you eat dinner at your 
home ?” 

“ I have n’t any home. ’ 

“No home ! Dreadful !” Ruth’s eyes grew 
dim. “Isn’t home where your mamma is and 
papa?” 

“ I have n’t any mamma or papa.” 

Ruth’s eyes overflowed, a little clear rain on 
her rose-pink cheeks. Then she brightened. 

“ But, boy, you has God.” 

“ No ; I don’t know him,” said the boy. 

“ Don’t know God ! Not know the dear good 
God, boy ! Oh, how lonesome you is !” 

“Yes, so I am,” said the boy, ceasing to eat. 
“ I feel pretty bad.” 

“ Yes, boy ; lonesome makes you feel dread- 
ful bad in here,” and Ruth laid her chubby 
hands on her little breast. “ I was lonesome 
once, when papa and mamma went to Aunt 
Kate when she was sick. I felt terrible in here, 
an’ cried. Betty said ’cause I was lonely ; and 
when they came back the terrible feel went 
away. Oh, boy, I wish you needn’t be lone- 
some. How old is you ?” 

“ Twelve.” 

“ And what is your name?” 


THE LEVYING OF A TAX, 


79 


“I had a little brother named Henry. He 
would be twelve if he stayed down here, but 
God took him up to heaven when he had white 
clothes on. He is very glad up there, and sings 
and plays with angels.” 

“That little kid is well off,” said the lonely 
boy. 

Ruth saw her papa nearing the gate. She 
ran to him. “ Oh, papa, a lonely boy is here. 
He has n’t any home, or papa, or mamma, and 
he is twelve — just like our heaven-boy.” 

Papa clasped Ruth’s hand closer, as he always 
did at the thought of the child removed out of 
his touch and sight. Ruth looked earnestly at 
him. “ Can’t you help the lonely boy, papa?” 

“ We ’ll see about it,” said papa cheerfully. 

A little questioning brought out facts. The 
lonely boy’s papa, a workman, had been killed 
by the fall of a wall when the boy was a baby. 
When he was six his mother died, and he went 
to his Aunt Jane. He could read ; he liked to 
read ; went to school until he was eight ; then 
Aunt Jane’s husband made him work, help- 
ing at a coffee-stand. His Aunt Jane died a 
year ago ; he was very sorry ; she was kind to 
him. 

“ Why have you left your uncle ? Did he 
drive you off ?” asked Ruth’s papa. 

“No; but — well, he did what he oughtn’t 


8o THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

to, and the police got him. When the police 
came I ran and got out of town as fast as ever I 
could.” 

“Why? What had you done to make you 
fear the officers?” 

“ Nuffin. But, mister, I knew about him, 
and if they got me they ’d ask the questions and 
make me tell. You do n’t like to tell bad about 
folks you live with, you see. Aunt Jane was 
kind to me, and she would have felt bad if she 
thought I ’d tell about him and get him sent up. 
And he wasn’t bad to me — much. He gave me 
a dime once to go to a show ; he always bought 
me shoes ; and once I was sick, and he let me 
lie abed three days. So I ran off before the 
p’lice thought about such a' little boy as me, so 
I ’d not have to tell. Mebbe he ’ll get off and 
not do it again. It was about bad money.” 

The boy stopped to cough. 

“You seem to have a cold, my lad.” 

“ Sleepin’ out nights,” he said patiently. 

“ Well, come along with me and let me see 
what I can do for you.” 

The boy rose, looking up timidly. “You 
wont give me to the p’lice, mister! I haven’t 
done one thing ; not one.” 

“ Never fear ; I ’m going to give you a suit of 
clothes. Tell mamma, Ruth, that I ’ll be back 
by dinner-time.” 


THE LEVYING OF A TAX, 8i 

When papa came back Ruth was all eager- 
ness about the ‘‘ lonely boy.” 

“ I bought him a good suit, underclothes and 
shoes,” said papa, “and I left him with Barber 
John for a hot bath and a shampoo. Then he is 
to come here, and you can entertain him in here 
with mamma, and in a day or two we will see 
what it is best to do with him. Taken care of, 
he may become a good man. Left to wander, 
he will doubtless be a bad man. It is well to 
save souls from death.” 

When the lonely boy appeared at the gate 
Ruth ran to meet him, led him to a chair before 
the fire, brought her picture-books and toys, and 
she and her lonely boy had a happy afternoon. 
Mamma noticed that he was a quiet, gentle, 
pleasant-spoken little fellow. His cough was 
bad and he was pale ; so after tea he was dosed 
and poulticed and put in a warm bed, just as 
mamma’s own little boy would have been. 

Next morning, however, he was very sick, 
and had the doctor. It was a week before he 
was quite well and able to be about. In that 
time he had grown into the heart of the family. 
Quiet and tender care had brought back memo- 
ries of his mother, apparently a good woman. 

“ My boy,” said Ruth’s papa to Henry when 
he was quite recovered, “ I am going to send 
you to school, to hear what the teacher says of 
6 


82 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

you. If you wish to stay with me I shall expect 
you to be industrious and obedient, speak the 
truth, and use good clean language. Can you 
do that, think ?” 

The lonely boy smiled joyfully. Those were 
easy terms on which to secure a home— a family. 

The lonely boy is six years older now, almost 
a man. Ruth calls him her “ big borrowed bro- 
ther.” She has two “ little truly brothers ” of 
her own also now, twins. Ruth thinks it just 
the best thing in the world that they are twins, 
as that makes one apiece for her and the big 
borrowed brother, formerly the Lonely Boy. 

A moment or two before Miss Eunice fin- 
ished her reading, Keziah, who had concluded 
to treat the guests, came in bearing a large tray 
on which were dainty little cups of bouillon. 
With the privileged frankness of an old and 
trusted servant Keziah made known her views, 
as she passed about the cups. 

“ I make sure that these are all fine stories, 
you seem so interested in them ; but I know 
one that tops the whole of them, if I do say it. 
It is true, too, every word of it.” 

“ Tell it to us, Keziah !” cried Cicely, and 
all the other children took up the chorus. “ Tell 
it to us,” Keziah. 

“ It 's too late,” said Keziah, “ and it is more 


THE LEVYING OF A TAX. 


S3 


a grown folk’s story than a children’s story ; 
perhaps you children wouldn’t see the true 
point to it. Besides, I could n’t tell a story in 
a proper understandable manner, not to save 
my life. The story is about Sardinia Bowker, 
that lives on the rising land yonder, Doe Creek 
way.” 

What, Sardinia Bowker, that comes to Tip- 
ton church in a bright grass-green wool de laine 
frock ?” cried Cicely. 

“ I do n’t care what she wears,” said Keziah 
briskly. “ I know what she is : one of the best 
girls, and the bravest and truest, the Lord ever 
made. She ’s a poor, plain girl, sure enough, 
and her story is only about pigs, but it is worth 
hearing ; and I do n’t misdoubt the angels 
know about it up in heaven. If Miss Eunice 
will write it out Monday I ’ll give her the 
points and facts as I know them.” 

“Thank you, Keziah. I shall be very glad 
to do it,” said Eunice. 

“The world,” said Mr. Vance, “is full of 
heroes and heroines whose names are not writ- 
ten on earthly pages, but in the records of 
heaven.’ 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE DA V OF THE BLESSED. 

“ O day of rest ! How beautiful, how fair, 

How welcome to the weary and the old ! 

Day of the Lord ! and truce to earthly care ! 

Day of the Lord — as all our days should be !” 

“ What do you suppose we ’ll do to-day ! No 
Sunday-school, no church ’’—thus the boys and 
girls gathered at Madame Baron’s greeted each 
other when they met on Sunday morning. A 
beautiful morning it was : the air mild with the 
new warmth of spring, the sky blue, with only 
a few fleecy-white clouds slowly drifting ; along . 
the lawn great clumps of daffodils unfolding, 
balmy-breathed ; afar along the river’s welling 
brim the red-bud trees, all one rosy glow, shaken 
as by a wind by the strong waters that rose 
against their stems and rocked them until their 
dainty blossoms fell upon the debris-encumbered 
current as it tumbled heavily along. A lovely 
day, but silent ; strangely silent : there were no 
sounds of labor calling from field to field, and 
no full -toned bells echoing from church to 
church, while the river, struggling against the 
highest banks, had already wrought desolation 
and threatened more. 


THE DA y OF THE BLESSED. Sj 

Mr. Tracy, Mr. Danforth and Mr. White con- 
cluded to try to reach Tipton church on horse- 
back. There were but two creeks, which might 
perhaps be crossed higher up. 

“ If cries for help have come from any of 
our neighborhoods we want to know it and plan 
to give the help,” said Mr. Danforth. 

“ I propose to hold a Sunday-school for all 
these young people here,” said Mr. Vance ; “ that 
will occupy the morning. 

“ I should be glad,” said Madame Baron, “if 
Mr. White will have a service in the dining- 
room for us all this afternoon. Besides our- 
selves, here, there are the five servants now in 
the house and Peter’s family ; you will have an 
audience, Mr. White.” 

“ I have good example for considering one 
or two an audience,” said Mr. White, “and I 
shall be glad indeed to have a service.” 

“ Will you kindly also, before you set out for 
church, open your books and let me select one 
for each of the young people and for the ser- 
vants, as a memento of these days when the 
floods have shut us in,” said Mrs. Ainslie. 

Thus the Sabbath was provided with its ap- 
propriate occupation. The Sunday-school and 
the books filled the hours until the gentlemen 
were at home for the two o’clock dinner. The 
afternoon service was well-adapted to the audi- 


86 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


ence : then Eunice went to the piano and every- 
one’s favorite hymns and psalms were sung. 
So, when after -tea came, the day seemed to 
have vanished like a flash of light. 

“ I think I should like to tell the story to- 
night,” said Mr. Vance ; “ it was suggested to me 
by a remark of Ned’s at my Sunday-school this 
morning. I had the Ten Commandments re- 
peated. When the second was given, at the 
clause ‘ visiting the iniquities of the fathers 
upon the children to the third and fourth gen- 
eration of them that hate me, and showing 
mercy unto thousands of them that love me 
and keep my commandments,’ Ned said he 'did 
not wish to be irreverent, but he never could 
make that seem fair ;’ he ‘ could not see that the 
children were either to praise or to blame for 
what their fathers had done.’ I pointed out to 
him that the wrath of the Lord took a far less 
sweep than his mercy, for iniquities are visited 
only to the third and fourth generation, while 
the righteous are blessed to thousands of gen- 
erations. I also told him that, as far as souls 
are concerned, ‘the soul that sinneth, it shall 
die,’ and that the prophet tells us, ‘ The son 
shall not bear the iniquity of the father, neither 
shall the father bear the iniquity of the son.’ 
Ned says he understands the chapter in Eze- 
kiel, and it seems all right to him, but he cannot 


THE DA Y OF THE BLESSED. 87 

make the second commandment seem ‘real fair.’ 
When I was a boy in school one of my school- 
mates expressed the same idea in much the 
same way to our teacher. It was at a boys’ 
boarding-school in London, kept by a quaint, 
good man who set our spiritual training above 
all price. When the boy expressed his views 
he looked at him thoughtfully for a little time, 
then he provided the instruction due.” 

A STORY ABOUT THINGS THAT ARE FAIR. 

“ I will make a bargain with you, my boy. 
I will give you a whole holiday: go out and 
amuse yourself; and I will give you a crown, 
so that you may be able to stop and buy any 
little things you like. Only you must promise to 
keep your eyes open, and notice everything you 
see, and inquire into everything that seems 
strange, and report to me to-night.” 

“ All right,” said the boy, seizing the crown, 
and down he rushed out-of-doors and hopped 
on one leg a whole block, and turned somer- 
saults the next block, and then ran whistling 
ever so many blocks, until he brought up short, 
remembering that he was to observe and in- 
quire into every odd thing he saw. He came 
to a stand just in front of a little shop, where a 
child sat on a doorstep and an old woman stood 
behind the child. The youngster was the most 


88 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

cross-eyed that ever the boy had seen. He felt 
that he must inquire. 

“ What makes the child so cross-eyed r 

“ Both its father and mother were cross-eyed,” 
said the old woman. 

“I don't think that’s fair,” said the boy, 
“ that the poor child ’s looks should be ruined 
on account of its father and mother.” 

The woman took a little looking-glass from 
her counter and held it before the boy’s face. 

“ How did you come to be so much better 
looking than most boys?” 

“ Why, my father and mother are very hand- 
some ; they are called about the finest looking 
couple in London.” 

“ And do you think it ’s fair you should look 
so uncommon well ?” 

“ Why, yes ; why not ?” said the boy. 

“ Some rules, you see, work both ways,” said 
the old woman. 

The boy went on till he came to a small 
house where by the open window lay a pale, 
sick young man in a chair. As the boy passed 
he felt very sorry for the invalid, and then 
thought it might be his duty to inquire. So, 
to make inquiring easy, he bought three oranges 
and ran back to the window. 

“ I ’m out on a holiday,” said the boy, “ and 
I felt no end sorry to see you sick, and I got 


THE DA V OF THE BLESSED. 8g 

you these to show you how sorry I feel for you. 
What 's the matter?” 

“ I am sick with consumption,” said the 
young man. 

How did you get it?” 

“ Both my parents died with it.” 

“I don’t think that’s fair,” said the boy, 
“ for you to be sick because your parents were 
sickly.” 

” You look very strong,” said the invalid. 

“ I ’m no end strong,” said the boy. “ Just 
look at my muscle ; feel my grip : and that 
isn’t half my grip.” 

“ How did you come to be so strong ?” 

“ Why, my father is awfully strong. He can 
pull a boat faster than any man but a profes- 
sional ; he can bat a ball out of sight : you never 
saw such a strong man.” 

“ And you do n’t quarrel with inheriting 
strength ? You think it is quite fair ?” 

The boy walked on to a bookstore and went 
in. At the door stood a ” lord’s ” carriage, liv- 
eries, coachman, footman, coat of arms, great 
splendor. After these great folk went out the 
boy bought a book. “ It is quite fine to be such 
great people,” he said. 

“Fine enough,” said the book-seller; “but 
only for one thing I might have been in that 
lord’s place and he in mine.” 


po 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


“ How was that?” asked the boy. 

“ In the time of Charles 1. the Beaufort family 
had great estates. The elder son sided with the 
Commons, the younger with the king. When 
Charles 11. came back the older son was banished 
as a traitor and the estates were given to the 
younger son, who was made a lord. They have 
been lords ever since. I descend from the elder 
son. If he had held to the king rather than the 
Commons I would now be Lord Beaufort and 
not bookseller Beaufort.” 

“Dear me!” said the boy; “why did they 
not punish the Beaufort himself, and let the 
children keep the estates ?” 

“ That ’s not the way they do things. The 
children take the father’s chances. The title 
was a reward of loyalty, and the loyal man’s 
children had the benefit of it. You are talking 
to me : I am on the losing side, and you say 
‘What a pity!’ ‘If you were talking to Lord 
Beaufort’s son you would hear the same story 
and say — ‘ How fortunate !’ ” 

The boy went on, to the market, and bought 
some fruit. 

“ This fine day reminds me of the country,” 
said the fruit seller ; “I lived there when I was 
young.” 

“ Why did n’t you stay there ?” inquired the 
boy. 


THE DA y OF THE BLESSED. gi 

“ Because my father signed for a man that 
failed, and the creditors took away our farm.” 

“ That doesn’t seem fair,” said the boy, hesi- 
tatingly. 

It ’s good sound law. Of course it seems 
hard on me. If it had been left to me perhaps 
I would not have signed the security ; but my 
father did, and I could n’t claim that I had noth- 
ing to do with it and so should get back the 
place. Inheritance works both ways, and people 
do n’t quarrel with it. The savage inherits his 
father’s hut, bow and spear ; the law of heredity 
accompanies the tie of blood, of family. In this 
law, and in the feelings of responsibility, grati- 
tude, unity arising from it, men are marked as 
superior to brutes, which have no such notions.” 

The boy started off to run to his tutor’s, but 
presently found his way blocked by the setting 
forth of a funeral. He stopped beside an old 
man who sat on a doorstep. 

“We are all born to be buried,” quoth the 
old man. 

“ Why do people die ?” asked the boy. 

“ Because of sin,” said the old man. “ ‘ Where- 
fore death passed upon all men because all have 
sinned.’ ” 

“ But this burial is of a very little child,” said 
the boy ; “ it cannot have sinned as we have.” 

“ But sin must have been in it, or it could 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


92 

not die,” said the old man. “ A perfectly sin- 
less body would be so fit a home for a sinless 
immortal spirit that the two could not be 
parted. This little child inherited sin with its 
race, before it could sin consciously in itself ; if 
not, it could not die. ‘ Death by sin,’ even on 
them who have not sinned after the similitude 
of Adam’s transgression. ” 

“ See here, man,” said the boy : “ Jesus our 
Lord was perfectly holy, and yet he died.” 

“My son,” said the old man, “remember 
two texts : Christ says of his life, ‘ No man 
taketh it from me: I lay it down of myself.’ Also 
remember that when he was on the cross he 
‘ cried with a loud voice and gave up the ghost.’ 
He died to atone for our sins.” 

The funeral had moved on, and the way 
being clear the boy ran off to his tutor. “ What 
have you seen to-day ?” asked the tutor. 

“ I saw quite a number of things,” said the 
boy. “ I found some people that had red hair 
and crossed-eyes because their parents had the 
same. I found some folks rich because their 
fathers had been wise and busy, others poor 
because their parents had been idle or foolish. 
Some people had diseases because their family 
was not healthy, and generally children had to 
take their fathers’ fortunes in body and money. 
I find that this has been so always, and that 


THE DA Y OF THE BLESSED. 


93 


some things are so large that we can not see 
the whole of them until we get to the next 
world — also that we can not understand some 
things because we can only get hold of little bits 
of them : I stopped at the menagerie, and saw 
a blind boy trying to find out how an elephant 
looked by just pulling at his tail. He said he 
did n’t think elephants were very big, or had 
much shape to them. And finally I saw a 
funeral, and began to find out that what we lose 
one way may be made up to us in another.” 

‘‘ Very well !” said the tutor. “You found that 
when we inherit physical things from our par- 
ents we say ‘ fair,’ and when we are told of our 
unhappy moral inheritance we say ‘ not fair !’ 
Scripture says, ‘ As we have borne the image 
of the earthy, so shall we also bear the image 
of the heavenly.’ ‘ If through the offence of 
one many be dead, much more the grace of God, 
and the gift by grace, which is by one man, Jesus 
Christ, hath abounded unto many.’ By one sin 
of Adam we fell ; but from our many offences 
committed every day— wilful offenses, heaping 
up our own measure of transgression— we are 
justified by the righteousness of Christ, if we 
trust him as our Saviour, and are raised from 
earth to heaven.” 

“Seems we gain more than we lost,” said 
the boy. 


94 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


^‘That makes things seem very different,” 
said Ned. “ I suppose I have seen a great many 
things like that — and never thought what they 
meant.” 

“In this world there are many things that 
at first seem to us not fair at all,” said Cicely. 

“ What else would you look for, child, in a 
world where there is so much sin, and conse- 
quent selfishness?” said Miss Eunice. 

“ Perhaps it is the selfishness coming from 
sin that makes most of the unfairness,” assented 
Cicely. “ How many people are very poor, even 
very good people, who seem to deserve what is 
quite different. The book which Mrs. Ainslie 
gave me to-day made me think of that. It was 
about home missionaries: I have before read 
about them and how much they have to suffer, 
and I wonder they have courage for it ! I think 
it is dreadful. If they are willing to do the 
hard work I think other people ought to be will- 
ing to make it as easy for them as they can.” 

“ I have been a colporter in various parts of 
the country many years,” said Mr. White, “and 
I have seen much of Home Missionaries ; as a 
class, they are the most laborious, self-sacrificing, 
godly people I know. It is not only the mis- 
sionary men who share the toils and make the 
sacrifices ; even the little children of the families 
get their share of it.” 


THE DA y OF THE BLESSED. 


95 


“ Mr. White, cannot you tell us a home mis- 
sionary story, just to finish off Sunday evening 
with — something you have known or seen in 
your travels?” said Cicely. 

“ I can try,” said Mr. White. “ I was think- 
ing of such a story for you, to-day. I will call it 

“ THE BROWN GOWN.” 

The “ brown gown ” was the child of Hilary’s 
genius and was born in a garret. Some garrets 
are affluent, bloated millionaire garrets, full of 
the spoils of past luxury ; others are “ poor, but 
respectable,” like the parents of most heroes. 
The garret famous as the native place of the 
brown gown was of this latter variety ; it be- 
longed to the home of a western missionary, 
and was, in fact, the unfinished story over the 
kitchen — a story which, in process of time, 
might develop into a bedroom, provided the 
missionary’s congregation ever found themselves 
able to expend any more money on the manse. 

Why had Hilary gone up into the garret? 
Because it had a wide and noble view, over vast 
green prairies sweeping towards an opal sky ; 
and to this beautifully enlarged field of vision 
Hilary was fain to escape from the sight of 
little Rachel’s red nose and rapidly - winking 
eyes. Rachel was trying not to cry while she 
pared apples. Possibly she did not like to pare 


p6 , THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

apples? Yes, indeed ; she was not hostile to any 
kind of honest labor. She would have willingly 
pared apples for a week if that would procure 
her a gown, for the want of a gown lay as a 
source of her tears. Moreover, she was trying 
not to cry ; for, pray, what was the use of cry- 
ing for the impossible ? Rachel had considered 
the entire question : money there was none ; 
material was equally wanting ; no famous “box” 
was on its way. She had made a mental inven- 
tory of her gowns ; all were old, nearly out- 
grown, made over and over until further reno- 
vation was impossible. 

Evidently the affair of the gown was hope- 
less. If Rachel went to the festival she must 
be shabby enough, while, so far as she knew, 
every other little girl was to go in garments of 
praise. The spirit of heaviness being her por- 
tion, Rachel, ten years old, and small of her 
age, wept a small weep privately, as she sup- 
posed, but Hilary saw it. 

Hilary was twenty-five, large and beautiful ; 
a visitor from the fortunate East, v/here gowns 
and culture abounded. She was a college grad- 
uate, assistant editor of a newspaper, a cousin 
of Rachel’s mother, and she had come to this 
missionary manse on a vacation trip, which had 
lengthened into six months, and would close in 
two weeks more. The visit had lengthened 


THE DA y OF THE BLESSED. 


97 


because Hilary had found in it some of the 
Lord’s errands to do. 

As the vacation lengthened and the errands 
were done Hilary’s finances had been reduced, 
and now Hilary had been compelled “ to draw a 
line.” Not another penny dare she spend ; she 
had her fare home and fifty dollars beside. This 
was a depth of impecuniosity new to her, and 
deeper she dared not go. She refiected, in this 
connection, that her cousins, the Daytons, these 
home missionaries with whom she tarried, never 
knew what it was to have their “ expenses and 
fifty dollars beside.” 

When Hilary came to see Mrs. Dayton, who 
was her nearest living relative, what had she 
found ? Five little children, with a mother worn 
out with doing hard work to which she was 
unequal. The household gear, which had been 
pretty, neat and new when she was married, 
was, with long use and several movings,’ 
dingy, worn and insufficient. Books and maga- 
zines, absolute necessities and dear delights to 
Hilary, were almost entirely wanting in the 
home of these educated people. Once, in great 
hardships, the “ Encyclopedia ” and the Un- 
abridged ” had been sold. How eagerly the fam- 
ily had read the few volumes and periodicals 
which Hilary had brought with her ! 

Only one week had Hilary been at the Day- 
7 


g8 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

tons —during which she had ordered fifty dol- 
lars’ worth of books as her present to these 
friends — when Mrs. Dayton was seized with a 
severe fever. 

No money, debts accumulating until the in- 
adequate salary should be paid — this was the 
financial status of these servants of the church. 

'‘The Christian lesson of how to abound 
seems to be left out of your education,” laughed 
Hilary to Mr. Dayton. 

What else could she do other than what she 
did? She hired a servant, provided for the 
needs of the invalid, bought bed-linen, towels, 
a wrapper, and, seized with the rabies of im- 
provement, bought paint and inspired Mr. Day- 
ton to paint the woodwork, and then to con- 
struct a lounge and two or three tables, which 
she upholstered and decorated with cretonne 
and muslin ; draperies were hung at the win- 
dows, and under Hilary’s busy fingers knick- 
knacks and ornaments common in the East grew 
and multiplied, so that poor Lucy Dayton, com- 
ing out of her long illness, found herself in a 
renovated home. Boxes had come, at Hilary’s 
order, from the East, and a friend had sent 
money for painting the manse. 

Doing all this, there was much which Hilary 
perforce left undone ; and the wardrobes of the 
children were of the neglected affairs, except 


THE DA Y OF THE BLESSED. gg 

that some of Hilary’s gowns had been turned 
into little frocks and aprons. 

Thus it had come about that Hilary’s visit 
was near its close. Hilary had no more money 
to spend : the servant was dismissed, the house- 
mother — stronger and happier than for years — 
was at her tavsks once more, and Rachel peeled 
apples, and wiped furtive tears, conscious that 
of all the children at the coming festival she 
would wear the worst gown. Now Rachel, 
though a home missionary’s little girl, had her 
tastes, and liked a frock that fitted and was not 
faded. Rachel’s care weighed heavily on Hil- 
ary’s heart as she stood in that garret. 

Then her eyes withdrew from the wide pros- 
pect of prairie-land and casually fixed on a 
brown coat — a frock coat made with long, ample 
skirts and wide breast and sleeves ; a coat of 
chocolate-colored west of England goods — owned 
by Mr. Dayton in his “ senior year,” now faded, 
linings gone, edges worn, and past using even 
for doing chores and painting in. In fact, vari- 
ous spots and patches of paint attested its latest 
use. 

Gazing absently, Hilary noted that the wrong 
side of this garment retained its rich chocolate 
hue unharmed. Beside it hung a brown silk 
umbrella, long past use. 

Suddenly Hilary’s face grew luminous with 


lOO 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


a great idea. She discussed the situation within 
herself. 

“ It would turn beautifully ; the wrong side 
is so soft and rich. The sleeves would make 
sleeves and vest ; the skirt, with silk puffs at 
the seams, would be long enough and wide 
enough. I should make the waist a jacket. 
What a blessing that when Cousin Lucy was 
married umbrellas were large and of good 
quality !” 

Forthwith Hilary went for her work-basket 
and Rachel’s most neatly-fitting gown. She 
remained in the seclusion of the garret that 
afternoon and the next morning. The family 
were duly reverent ; they supposed that she was 
writing an editorial. 

The next day, while Rachel with mournful 
resignation peeled potatoes, Hilary called her. 
Up to the garret went Rachel, two steps at a 
time. Hilary was an authority in the family. 
Rachel returned in half an hour, seeming rather 
to fly than to walk. 

“ Mother, a new dress ! Such a beauty ! Wool- 
en and silk ! It fits ! Oh, it is for the festival !” 

“ Has Hilary been buying you a dress?” cried 
poor Mrs. Dayton. “I’m so sorry ; she could 
not afford it.” 

“ It is a new dress,” said Rachel, “ made out 
of an old coat and an old umbrella.” 


THE DA V OF THE BLESSED. 


lOI 


At the festival Hilary had the satisfaction of 
hearing folks say Rachel was the best dressed 
child in the room. 

She heard more. 

Mrs. Green : “ The Daytons must have come 
into a fortune, dressing Rachel like that!’' 

Mrs. Hurd: “No need of raising our man's 
salary ; silk and all wool, indeed !” 

Mrs. Platt : “ I ’ll remember it when I sub- 
scribe to the salary next year 1” 

Hilary had had trials since she came to the 
Daytons. One of the deacons had begged her 
to let him put the money sent for painting the 
manse to the credit of the pastor’s salary. 

“ You mean,” said Hilary stiffly, “ to credit 
yourselves with what you never gave ; the min- 
ister with what he never received, for the manse 
is not his ; and the salary with money never 
paid on it ! Is that it?” 

Again, the Finance Committee had urged 
her to write all that she had laid out for the 
Daytons — the money for books, muslin, med- 
icine and cretonne — to the account of paid 
salary.” 

“ I ’m not a member of your congregation, 
and I ’m not paying salary,” said Hilary. 

Hilary had seen Mr. Platt pay his subscrip- 
tion “in kind;” the kind being half a barrel of 
grown wheat flour rated at highest Eastern 


T02 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


price ; which flour Mrs. Platt had inadvertently 
remarked she was glad to be rid of. 

The remarks at the festival broke down the 
last barriers of Hilary’s reserve. The Ladies’ 
Society was to have a meeting next day, to dis- 
cuss the yearly donation. Not a woman was 
missing — the gown of Rachel was in every 
mind. Hilary, too, was there, near the door, 
though uninvited. 

After various speeches and suggestions had 
been made, some of them bearing on the lux- 
urious life of pastor Dayton and family, Hilary 
walked to the presiding officer’s side, and crav- 
ing leave to speak began the story of her visit 
to the Daytons. She sketched their early life, 
its comforts and possibilities ; she told what she 
had seen and found at the manse what she 
had given and spent ; and wound up with the 
“ brown gown ” made out of an old coat and an 
old umbrella. 

There was silence, and then reaction ; there 
were blushes, sighs, and some tears, and then 
there was a wave of honest penitence, which 
rolled on and on in that congregation until that 
church was not only self-supporting but well 
supported. 

However, Hilary holds that even nineteen 
hours a day at the editorial desk would be 
“ easier than home missionating.” 


THE DA Y OF THE BLESSED. loj 

“ I wish I had been there," cried Robert in- 
dignantly. “ I would have given those stingy 
people something besides talk !" 

“ Oh, would you !" said Ben teasingly. 

“ Perhaps some talk and some good example 
was what they needed and could best appre- 
ciate," said Mrs. Lyman. 

“ A big chocolate drop to whichever gets up 
to bed quickest and quietest !" said Cousin Eu- 
nice. The juniors faded out of the room like 
a cloud of noiselessly-flitting night moths. 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 


104 


CHAPTER VI. 

OF ERRANDS DONE FOR GOD. 

“ Howe’er it be it seems to me 
'T is only noble to be good : 

Kind hearts are more than coronets 
And simple faith than Norman blood.” 

On Monday morning Cicely was busy dust- 
ing the library, where Miss Eunice was at work 
on her type-writer. 

‘‘Cousin Eunice,” said Cicely, “are you get- 
ting ready that story of Keziah’s ?” 

“Yes, and I am putting my very best work 
into it.” 

“ Then perhaps it will be a good story. I 
am very curious to hear it, for I cannot imagine 
how a story told by such a very plain woman 
as Keziah, about such a very common sort of 
girl as Sardinia Bowker, could be worth any- 
thing at all.” 

“ I am beginning to think. Cicely, that Sar- 
dinia is a very uncommon girl, unless industry, 
courage, generosity, patience, and filial dutiful- 
ness are commoner qualities than I have sup- 
posed them to be.” 

“We naturally think that heroines have 


OF ERRANDS DONE FOR GOD. 


105 

something very impressive in appearance or 
manners; that they must be beautiful and — 
well, take your breath away when you meet 
them in the street. I can’t believe that Joan of 
Arc, or Madame Roland, or Anne Askew, or 
Hannah More was like other people who lived 
near them,” said Cicely. 

“ Perhaps they did not appear so exceptional 
to their neighbors and cotemporaries as to us. 
One needs to be far off to get a realizing view of 
some things, and that may hold good of some 
people. I fancy Jael and Deborah, and Ruth 
and Esther, did not appear to their fellow cit- 
izens so far above the common style of people 
as they do to us. When I was travelling in 
Switzerland the mountains did not seem so 
high to me when I was walking or riding upon 
them as when I viewed them at a distance. 
We may be walking here among heroes, the 
sons of immortal fame, and not know it.” 

‘‘ This morning Mr. Vance is to study heroic 
deeds with us. We have all to mention one or 
two heroic deeds or people, and then we shall 
read about them,” said Cicely. “ This evening 
we can see how near that Sardinia Bowker, the 
girl with the queer name and country ways, 
comes to one of our morning heroines.” 

“ As the story this evening really belongs to 
Keziah,” said Madame Baron to her friends, “and 


io6 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

she will be interested to know how Eunice has 
worked it up, I think of asking Ezra, Keziah, and 
the other servants of the house in to hear it.” 

“ I hope you will, by all means,” said Mrs. 
Hastings. “We are indebted for very much 
of our comfort here to the cheerful, careful 
attendance of Ezra and Keziah.” 

The family were at dinner, and the boys 
seemed in haste to be away. As usual Robert 
was spokesman. 

“ Grandma, would you mind excusing some 
of us before dessert ? There has a small raft 
of lumber — boards, shingles, clapboards, lots of 
kinds— gone ashore at the Bend, where Alec 
came in. The men who own the lumber tried 
to take it down, and they didn’t understand 
the current or how to make the raft just right. 
They ’re rather young men, and this was their 
venture, and they feel terribly to lose their stuff. 
Peter and Ezra and Alec went down to help 
bring in all they could, so the men could sell 
it near here. Maybe we boys could help.” 

Madame Baron looked reluctant to trust her 
grandson near that turbulent water ; she glanced 
at Mr. Danforth. 

“If there is a loss that might be saved to 
the young men we ought to be there helping,” 
said Mr. Vance. “ I move that we also be ex- 
cused from dessert, Mr. Tracy.” 


OF ERRANDS DONE FOR GOD. 


107 


Yes, indeed !’' said Mr. Tracy. 

“ I will go too,” said Mr. White. 

“ Madame Baron, I will be responsible for 
Robert with my boys,” said Mr. Danforth. Then 
all the gentlemen and lads left the dinner-table 
to go to the rescue of the lumber. After the 
door closed it reopened, and Robert's curly head 
came in. “ Say, grandma, maybe you would n’t 
mind saving us some dessert !” 

At supper reports were made that most of 
the lumber had been brought ashore and safely 
piled up. Already purchasers had appeared, and 
the young men who owned the raft were feel- 
ing quite cheerful. 

“They built a kind of a board wigwam,” 
said Robert, “ and Ezra gave them some straw 
for beds, and some potatoes, and Peter’s wife 
sent them a gallon of milk.” 

When Madame invited Keziah to come and 
hear “ her story,” and bring Ezra and the rest, 
Keziah said “ But, Madame, the man Slocum, 
who bought the Beck place up by Doe Creek, is 
here ; he came to buy some of that lumber — a 
deal of it— for he is going to build. Ezra knows 
him, and asked him to stop over night, as it was 
late to go back.” 

“ Very well, Keziah, bring him in also. You 
will all be pleased to hear the story of— 


io8 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 

“ SARDINIA BOWKER’S PIGS.” 

I want to know !” 

Mrs. Bowker raised her eyes with something 
very like astonishment in their brown depths ; 
she stripped the dough from her fingers and 
held them extended while she gazed at her 
daughter Sardinia. 

“You think you’re goin’ to make your for- 
tune ; do you ? Well, you never will while your 
pa is runnin’ this yere farm.” 

“ Now, ma, he ’s real forehanded,” replied 
Sardinia deprecatingly. “ We , hev the most 
land and the biggest house of any one around.” 

“ ’T wa’n’t his plannin’,” and Mrs. Bowker 
plunged her hands into the dough. “ He ’s a 
strong man,” with some pride, “ and works fit 
to kill when he do work ; but his head’s more 
like one of them there little red balloons Syke 
brought from the fair than anything ever I 
see— blows in any wind. I ’ve contrived to 
be the stiddiest breeze, and sence I ’ve got this 
farm and all in my name I ’ve breathed a sight 
easier. Well, you kin go, fur all me, though 
your pa ’ll miss you a heap — me, too, Sardinia. I 
do n’t know what I would do without you. Any 
other one of my children ’s jes’ like their pa, 
’ceptin’ you, and you ’re like me,” with a thump 
at the dough. “Goin’ to Beech’s? There’s 
Tommy screamin’ his tongue loose !” 


OF ERRANDS DONE FOR GOD. 


log 

Sardinia, a tall, slender girl, with one shoul- 
der slightly higher than the other, “ from ker- 
ryin’ babies,” her mother said, stepped out the 
door to interview the youngest Bowker. Her 
reddish-brown hair glowed in the warm sunlight 
which flickered through the pale leaves of two 
cottonwood-trees ; beyond the trees was a corn- 
field which stretched away until it met the sky ; 
to the left, beyond the Osage-orange hedge and 
the road, was a great extent of prairie, bestuck 
with posts which marked the lines of barbed 
wire fences. 

Rain had been plenty so far, and th^re was a 
look of freshness and growth about fields and 
pasture and prairie that was in itself an inspira- 
tion. Either that or something else had caused 
great plans to spring up in Sardinia’s breast. 
In her small attic room, if room it could be 
called, she had felt strange and new desires for 
independence, for progress, for advancement in 
the goods of this world. 

Since she was a child she had been given 
calves and pigs and colts, and they had been 
the basis of many a dream. She would plan to 
sell her calf, or pig, or colt, and would revel in 
the thought of receiving money— hard money — 
to expend in whatever her heart most desired 
at the time. 

These dreams never had a realization. After 


no 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 


patient watching over calf, pig, or colt, and free 
and unsuspecting use of the word “ my,” the ani- 
mal was invariably sold by her father, and the 
proceeds never found their way to Sardinia’s 
empty pockets. 

But now she reasoned that if site could in 
some way earn a couple of pigs they would be 
hers in fact as well as in name. And while she 
was planning how she might earn these little 
pigs, as she worked in the house, or milked, or 
rode after the cattle, or did the thousand and 
one things always waiting for Sardinia on the 
farm, sh§ at the same time planned far greater 
results from their ownership than had ever 
occurred to her before. Two little pigs she 
must have ; she would keep them ; there would 
be more little pigs ; some she would sell ; she 
would save every cent of the profits and buy 
more stock, and then buy land, and then — but 
she was sure to grow dizzy on the heights of 
her imaginary prosperity, and further perform- 
ances were dreamed, not planned. And now in 
these fresh spring days at last her opportunity 
had come. Mrs. Beech was “so drove with 
work, that if Sardinia would only give her a lift, 
for a matter of three weeks or so, she would 
give Sardinia three little pigs out of the next 
litter.” 

The engagement was entered into and it 


OF ERRANDS DONE FOR GOD. 


Ill 


was brought to a successful termination. Cyrus 
Bowker — his large, ruddy, yellow-bearded face 
aglow with pride for his eldest — drove Sardinia 
and her three little pigs home ; and the arrival 
of the party was greeted by whoops and hurrahs 
from the younger Bowkers, and with a “ Did 
get ’em ; did n’t you, Sardinia ! Well, I ’m 
mighty pleased to see you back, fur sure!” from 
Mrs. Bowker, as she stood on the flat stone that 
served for a doorstep. 

Sardinia always remembered that ride home, 
that triumphal entry under the two cottonwood 
trees, the gorgeous pageantry of the clouds in 
the western sky, the long, long shadows of the 
trees, and old Pont enthusiastically wagging his 
aged tail. . * 

The little pigs were attended to like babies : 
they grew and throve, and were, without doubt, 
the most knowing, curly-tailed little pigs in the 
world, and their joint and several grunts were 
as music to Sardinia’s ears. When they were 
well-grown pigs, of uncommon size, beauty and 
discretion, a hog-dealer arrived upon the scene ; 
and when Cyrus sold his own pigs he sought to 
swell his honest gains by throwing in Sardinia’s 
three. 

Mrs. Bowker had been standing by the well, 
shading her eyes with her hand and looking 
down towards the pens. Her eyes snapped, her 


II2 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 


lips straightened, her faded calico gown and 
faded calico sun-bonnet took on an almost 
starched look, and she went down to the pens 
with the air of a general. 

You ain’t allottin’ to sell them pigs of Sar- 
dinia’s, Cyrus Bowker?” 

'‘Why not?” he asked with unfeigned sur- 
prise. 

“ For the cause that them pigs ain’t your’n.” 

“ Well, they ’re Sardinia’s — they ’re big 
enough to sell, and ’ll bring a good price.” 

“You ain’t to sell one of them pigs of Sar- 
dinia’s!” There was a staccato ring in the 
woman’s voice that startled the dealer. 

“ You go ’long to the house. I ’m doin’ this,” 
said Cyrus sullenly. 

“ See here, Cyrus, I ’m planted right here 1 
Them pigs is Sardinia’s and she earnt ’em, and 
you’re not to sell one of ’em. And you see 
here,” eyeing the dealer squarely : “ ef you buy 
’em you’ll be sued for buying pigs as didn’t 
belong to the man sellin’ ’em, and make your- 
self more trouble than all them pigs is worth. 
Sardinia ’s the best gal that ever lived, and she ’s 
been a-workin’ and a-plannin’ about them pigs, 
an’ you sha’n’t sell one of ’em, Cyrus Bowker!” 

“Well,” said he hastily, “I wont sell ’em; 
did n’t know ’s I was stirrin’ up sech a hornet’s 
nest — women ’s so contramptious !” 


OF ERRANDS DONE FOR GOD. 


So the pigs were saved that time, and except 
for a visible coolness between the heads of the 
house Sardinia was not aware that anything 
had happened. 

Two years passed. Sardinia was leaning 
over one of her pig-pens looking at the pigs. 
She had sold a couple the spring before and 
had built four good pens with the proceeds. 
Her pigs were the finest pigs in the county. 
She would sell some that fall and save the 
money, and she would have a good many to 
sell the next year ; and her mind ran on and on. 
Worldly prosperity was surely her^. 

Cyrus Bowker drove in with his team, rubi- 
cund, jovial, elated : it showed in the way he 
flapped the lines, even in the way he stopped 
the team. Mrs. Bowker, sitting by the kitchen 
door putting a clean waist on Tommie, saw 
those signs of good feeling and her eyes grew 
darker, her lips straightened, as was the custom 
when she braced herself for the defensive, and 
Tommie whined out, “ Maw, why you yankin’ 
so ?” while “ maw ” thought to herself, “ Now, 
what tomfoolery is it? Thank the Lord he 
hain’t sold the farm.” 

“ Maria,” said Cyrus coming in the door and 
affecting not to notice her repellent attitude, 
“ our fortune ’s made ! Tommie shall be a gen- 
tleman, you sha’n’t hev to work so hard, I wont 
8 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


114 

moil and toil and delve day in and day out on 
this pesky farm! We’ll begin by all hands 
goin’ fishin’ up to the crick to-morrer. You 
can jes’ put up a little snack ; can’t you ?” 

“ I could put up a little snack a sight easier ’n 
you could put up with it,” was the dry answer. 
“ Sit right yonder, Cyrus Bowker, and tell me 
what fool undertakin’ you ’ve been an’ gone an’ 
plunged us all into now.” 

Cyrus sat down in the chair designated and 
twirled his hat. 

“ Course you ’re down on it ’fore you ’ve 
heard the fu^ word — that ’s your natur ; I never 
seen you no other way : but when you hear 
about this, if you ’ve any head for business at 
all — which you hain’t — you’ll see there’s money 
in it. Money? There ’s thousands !” 

Well, what is it ?” 

“ I seen a man over to town to-day— a fust- 
rate business head — and he, takin’ a likin’ to me 
and my honest face, as he said — ” 

‘‘ Shucks !” impatiently. 

Takin’ a likin’ to me and my honest face, as 
he said,” went on the relater, doggedly, “ picked 
me out to let into the biggest concern that ’s 
ever come to Kansas.” 

“ Likely !” 

“Well, you’ll see. The very biggest thing 
for money that ’s ever come to Kansas. I ’ve 


OF ERRANDS DONE FOR GOD. //j 

got this hull county.” Cyrus leaned back in his 
chair and looked triumphantly at his wife. 

“ The county, hev’ you ? He did take a likin’ 
to your honest face fur sure ! Air you goin’ to 
own it all ?” 

I did n’t say what I hed the county fur — 
I ’m to canvas it with a churn. I ’ve bought the 
right to sell that churn all over this county, and 
there ’s thousands in it. Everybody ’ll want it. 
Queen Victoria and all the crowned heads of 
England say as there ’s no churn like it.” 

“ Cyrus Bowker, air ye all the way benight- 
ed ? Victoria and a churn ! It do take a man 
to lose his five senses. Is it a churn you ’d buy 
if any one was to bring it to you ?” 

“ Buy it ! I should think as how I wbuld 
buy it — it ain’t a churn, though, exactly ; the 
patent ’s on the dasher.” 

Mrs. Bowker rubbed her hands together 
nervously, tried to smooth out her forehead, 
pressed her lips together tighter, then said 
sharply : 

“ So you ’ve to sell a dasher. How much did 
you pay fur that privilege ?” 

“ Nothin’ to count on, considerin’ what I ’ll 
make offen it — only a hundred and fifty dol- 
lars—” 

“A hundred — and — fifty —dollars!” The 
words came out slowly. And you ain’t got a 


ii6 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

decent coat to your back. I ain’t bed a new 
dress fur two year. The childern all needs 
shoes. Sardinia hain’t one thing a gal of her 
age ’d oughter hev. The buggy ’s ben broke 
past usin’ fur a year ; all the harness needs fix- 
in’; the kitchen leaks and the well needs repair- 
in’; and in fact, Cyrus, everything is needin’ 
money — and you spend one hundred and fifty 
dollars for a churn-dasher! And you hain’t got 
no money noway !” There was almost a wail in 
the woman’s voice at the last. 

‘‘Course I hain’t. Can’t get no money offen 
a farm ; and I only give my note, payable in a 
year, and in a year I ’ll make thirty times that. 
That young man showed it all as plain as print. 
You do n’t know nothing about business, Maria.” 

“You actually gave the note ?” 

“ I actually did,” with a smile meant to be 
assured, but which was a signal failure. 

There was a long pause. 

“ Well, them horses ought n’t to stand there 
sweatin’ ; supper ’s about ready.” And Mrs. 
Bowker, with a gloomy face, began to set the 
table. 

Mr. Bowker showed his churn-dasher to sev- 
eral farmers who would n’t take it for a present, 
and after that the dasher stood in the cellar and 
was never mentioned except occasionally by 
Mrs. Bowker, who would ask her husband when 


OF ERRANDS DONE FOR GOD. 117 

he was going to begin to make his thousands ; 
a remark always met by a rapid disappearance 
of the individual addressed. 

Then it came time to pay the note. 

Cyrus Bowker received sharp communica- 
tions from the business-headed young man’s 
lawyer. But there was no way to pay the note. 
Cattle could not be sold — it was financial suicide 
to try it. Cattle had been going down steadily, 
and it was the hardest year there had ever been 
in Kansas since the grasshopper year, so the 
people said. Bowker’s only crops were for the 
cattle and to use at home. He was gloomy and 
morose. 

“ There ’s no way to pay that there note,” he 
said with a growl one night at the supper table, 
“ ’ceptin’ to sell them pigs of Sardinia’s.” 

Sardinia looked up with a flush that com- 
pletely suffused her fair, slightly freckled face. 

Cyrus Bowker !” said Mrs. Bowker, with a 
sharp ring in her voice, “ I ’ve just been expect- 
in’ that since the first day you come home with 
that fool churn ! And I say to you it ’s wicked — 
it ’s wicked — of you to be so pig-headed ; you not 
havin’ one speck of sense about business, and to 
go and sign away what does n’t belong to you ! 
Them pigs is Sardinia’s; she earnt ’em and 
tended ’em, and you ’ve no manner of right to 
go and make a present of ’em to some rascally 


ii8 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

swindler she never see ! Why ain’t you tried to 
sell your ornery churn dasher? You ain’t sold 
one— not one! You’re just the same as tryin’ 
to rob your child, and I say it sha’ n’t be done !” 

“What shall I do?” said Cyrus peevishly. 

“ Hev you got the hundred and fifty dollars ? 
No, you hain’t. Well, then, do n’t pay it, and let 
’em sue for it. It jes’ would do me good to see 
you sued fur your foolishness !” 

“ I ain’t got no hankerin’ to be sued,” said 
Cyrus stubbornly, “ even fur to make music for 
you to dance to. I ’m an honest man and lay 
out to pay my debts, and I ’ve no hankerin’ to 
be sued on my note !” 

“ It ’s astonishin’ how honest you air— tryin’ 
to take from your own children ” — and Mrs. 
Bowker’s usually unflinching voice slightly 
trembled. Cyrus gave an undistinguishable 
grunt and flung himself out of the house. Sar- 
dinia sat there pale and silent, and her mother 
gave her one or two furtive glances. 

Sardinia did not remain to clear the table as 
usual ; she walked out to the pens and leaned 
over one, looking at the black, struggling ani- 
mals. Thirteen grown — all three hundred 
pounds in weight, and some over that, and, 
though there was no sale for cattle, hogs brought 
four cents a pound on foot. The note could be 
paid out of those pens. 






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OF ERRANDS DONE FOR GOD. . iig 

There was a queer mist before her eyes, and 
so there was before her mother’s eyes as she 
stood peering out the kitchen window at her 
daughter. 

Sardinia saw her whole future in those pigs ; 
saw in them all her dreams of getting on in the 
world, of laying up money, of “being somebody.” 

She turned away from the pen and walked 
to the corral ; her father was driving up the cat- 
tle with angry expletives. 

“ Pa,” she said in her slow, soft voice, “ you 
durst sell them pigs to pay your note. I 'm will- 
in’.” The man’s whole attitude and expression 
changed at once. 

“ Sardinia, you air a good gal ! I thought as 
you ’d see it so ef you wa’n’t talked over,” with 
a jerk of his head toward the house. “Your 
mother air a good woman, but she ’ve no head 
for business. I thought you ’d as soon I ’d hev 
them hogs. Gals ain’t no use for hogs, fur ’s I 
kin see. I ’ll sell ’em to-morrer ” — 

Sardinia turned toward the house, not look- 
ing at the pens, with a slow step and a slight 
stoop. And the woman watching her from the 
kitchen window breathed fast and wiped away 
some scalding tears with the back of her hand. 

“ There ’s something dreadfully pathetic 
about that,” said Mrs. Lyman, wiping her eyes. 


120 . THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

“ Keziah !” said Madame with reproach and 
indignation, “why didn’t you tell me that at 
once, when it happened ? I ought to have done 
something about it. I would have tried to help 
somehow.” 

“ I only knew the finishing up of it lately, 
ma’am,” said J^eziah, “and I don’t like to be 
bothering you with all the troubles of the neigh- 
borhood. You have enough of them to see after 
as it is. This house is a regular house of refuge 
for everybody.” 

“Not so bad as that, I hope, Keziah,” said 
Eunice amid general laughter. But Madame 
was not appeased. “ It is so cruel for a young 
girl to be discouraged and imposed upon like 
that ; so hard for a mother to see such injustice, 
and that there is no way but to endure.” 

“That is just it, Madame,” said Ezra: “what 
could you or anybody have done about it ? Cy- 
rus Bowker is not poor ; he has a splendid farm, 
he would be rich if he and the most of his chil- 
dren were n’t so pesky shiftless and full of vain 
imaginations. Mis’ Bowker an’ Sardiny just 
simply are swimming up stream when they try 
to get a little forward. My! If Cyrus was a 
half-way match in stirringness to them two he 
would have as proper a place there as eye could 
rest on. Cyrus wouldn’t have wanted to get 
that foolish note-money from you, ma’am, for 


OF ERRANDS DONE FOR GOD. 


I2I 


he ’d be duty bound to pay interest on it ; and 
Sardiny’s money be just gobbled up, if you 11 
all excuse the expression.” 

“ I thought that big quiet girl looked rather 
downhearted when I saw her in church,” said 
Cicely. “She never goes anywhere but to 
church and to Sunday-school. She brings there 
a row of children that she has soaped and rubbed 
till their skins shine.” 

“ Of course she has no time to be visiting 
round; and where ’d she visit?” said Keziah 
with some asperity. “ It is at church she learns 
to bear other folks’ burdens, and to honor her 
father, if he is n’t extraordinary deserving, and 
to endure with patience. Well, the Lord knows 
them that are his, and I reckon he ’ll remember 
Sardinia for good, if she does n’t make any great 
parade of her goodness. Yes, she does scrub 
the children’s faces, and she makes their clothes 
and helps her mother, and whatever her hand 
finds to do she does it with her might, according 
as says the apostle.” 

“ This work which seems so small, so unpro- 
ductive, so commonplace,” said Mr. Tracy, “ may 
in its sum be greater than many deeds which 
we count noble. God has his servants and his 
messengers in many lowly places, and many 
are the errands which they do for him, without 
looking for reward or esteeming their service 


122 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


great. Doing the thing they should because his 
Spirit dwells within their hearts.” 

“Your expression, ‘errands for God,’” said 
Mrs. Ainslie, “ reminds me of one such errand 
done by a lad named Duncan, no older than 
Alec here. It would give me pleasure to read it 
to you. The incident happened near the home 
of a friend of mine, who wrote the story out and 
published it. She sent me a copy, which I have 
in my room, and I will get it. The story is 

“ DUNCAN’S ERRAND FOR GOD.” 

“Jeannie! Jeannie Grant! Whaur are ye? 
Here is the bonniest wee cock, white as driven 
snaw, wi’ comb an’ wattles like rowan berries !” 

Searching for Jeannie, Duncan ran into the 
woodshed. Was that little wailing heap of blue 
gingham Jeannie? 

“ Hoot, girl ! Dinna greet ! Hae ye cut yer- 
sel’ ? Luik ! Saw ye ever sic a pert, jaunty ban- 
tam ? I mended his broken leg an’ brought him 
roun’ for you !” 

“Go away! My heart is breaking! Mo- 
ther! Darling mother! I can’t live without 
mother !” 

“Girl! She’s no deid!” said Duncan in an 
awed tone. 

“ She ’s going to die ! The doctor told Mrs. 
Lee.” 


OF ERRANDS DONE FOR GOD. 


123 


“ Whist ! Doctors are sic wise-like folk, they 
will surely cure her.” 

“No; we are so poor we cannot get her 
cured.” 

“ Hoot, lass ! ye dinna mean to say that phy- 
sicians, wha hae the verra name o’ our good 
Lord, the Great Physician, wad withhol’ healin’ 
juist for lack o’ a little money ? I winna be sae 
weekid as to believe it !” 

“There is only one can cure her — he is a 
great surgeon in New York. If we could get 
him it would cost five hundred dollars. My 
mother must die because we have no money ! I 
can’t live without her ! I ’ll just lie on the fioor 
and not eat or drink.” 

“ That wad be weekid, Jeannie. The Bible 
says, ‘ Do thysel’ no harm.’ We maun live till 
God calls us to dee.” 

“ There ’s only mother and me ! Every 
night I slept close to her ; she kissed me the 
first thing in the morning; every evening we 
said our prayers together. Who would love me ?” 

Duncan set the bantam softly upon the 
ground. After a few scornful pecks at the chip- 
earth in the woodshed it walked out to the 
grass plat. 

“What wull ye do, Jeannie? If you hae no 
mither, an’ no money, how will ye leeve? You 
might be bound out !” 


124 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 


At this terrible suggestion Jeannie gave a 
shriek ; her little form suddenly became limp, 
and she lay unconscious upon her rude resting- 
place, the wood-pile. Mindful of the sick mo- 
ther in the house, Duncan softly rubbed her 
hands, then brought water in the well-mug ” 
and poured it over her face. Slowly she began 
to revive. 

Duncan, sitting by her, had time for consider- 
ation. Duncan was thirteen; Jeannie a year 
younger — a pretty, delicate girl — and the con- 
viction was borne in on Duncan that she could 
never endure the lot of an orphan “bound girl.” 

Since his mother died Jeannie and Mrs. 
Grant had been the boy’s best friends. Mrs. 
Grant had been his teacher in day-school and 
Sunday-school. Without her care he might have 
forgotten the teaching of his own mother. To 
Mrs. Grant he owed holidays, gifts, home feel- 
ings, the thought that some one loved him. 

“ Jeannie,” he said finally, “ dinna greet sae. 
Go to your mither, and dinna darken her heart 
wi’ your tears. Pray to God to send a way o’ 
cure. Ye mind our Lord did miracles for folk, 
and he is aye the same. Wha kens what he will 
do for us the noo?” 

That evening when the Haltons supposed 
Duncan to be in bed he was in the village, at 
Dr. Dodd’s office. 


OF ERRANDS DONE FOR GOD, 


125 


“Is it true, doctor, that Mistress Grant wull 
dee?” 

“ Yes, my boy ; she cannot possibly live over 
three weeks.” 

“Is it true that yon great surgeon-mon in 
the ceety could cure her?” 

“ Dr. Krief ? I have hardly a doubt of it.” 

“ Why dinna ye hae him come?” 

“ It would cost five hundred dollars, and per- 
haps he could not come for any price. Mrs. 
Grant is not able to be taken to the city, even if 
she had the money. It is a hard case, Duncan. 
Lives are sometimes lost for lack of such poor 
stuff as dollars.” 

Duncan left the office and sat down on the 
curbstone. The city was fifty miles away. He 
had in his pocket fifty cents and a biscuit. He 
rose and walked resolutely along the road. 
Steadily on went the sturdy little figure, while 
constellations rose and set. Duncan had been 
dropping corn all day, and at last his legs fairly 
gave out. He crawled under a haystack, ate his 
biscuit, and commended his way to God. 

The sun shining on his face woke him. His 
plan was now to reach a railway station. Ar- 
rived there, he asked the agent for “as much 
ride toward New York as he could get for 
twenty-five cents.” 

The car-ride of ten miles over, Duncan bought 


126 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

a loaf of bread for five cents, and walked on his 
way. He had thirty-two miles to go. “ May- 
be the Lord will give me favor in the eyes o’ 
some mon wi’ a wagon,” said the boy to himself. 

Sure enough, that day he had a ride of over 
eight miles given to him, and supper besides. 
He slept in a barn and next morning trudged 
on, buying his dinner for ten cents, and sleep- 
ing at night in the last strawstack before the 
city limits. Then he spent his last dime for 
breakfast and inquired the way to the great 
man’s house. 

It was office hours, and people were going in. 
Here a terrible obstacle was encountered — the 
servant man would not admit him ! For nearly 
an hour, in spite of threats about the police, 
Duncan hung around the door. He made up 
his mind that the doctor was in a room at the 
end of the hall, whither a maid escorted patients. 
Finally, as the front door opened to admit two 
people, Duncan braced up his courage, darted by 
them, rushed down the hall, and into the office 
like a small whirlwind — the door-keeper after 
him. There was a big table in the room, and 
Duncan kept this between himself and the 
enemy, darting about it like a boy playing at 
“ touch-tag ” around a stump, but crying : 

“ Doctor, let me speak wi’ ye ! Juist ane 
word ! Dinna let him get me !” 


OF ERRANDS DONE FOR GOD. 


127 


The amazed doctor was about to say, “ Take 
the rascal off, Thomas,” when looking down he 
saw blood wherever the boy’s foot trod on the 
white-tiled floor. 

“ Stop !” he commanded ; and, taking Duncan 
by the arm, “ Boy, what is the matter with your 
feet?” 

“They maun be worn out,” said Duncan 
simply. “ I hae walked mony a weary mile to 
speak wi’ ye, doctor, an’ I came fast, for there is 
no ony time to lose. Jeannie Grant’s mither is 
deein’ an’ no mon can save her but you, to whom 
the Lord has given, as to King Solomon, wisdom 
aboon ither men. Dinna let yon mon take me 
oot until I plead wi’ ye for Jeannie’s mither, an’ 
then he may put me in jail, or ony-whaur, so ye 
will go to Burgoss, an’ save Jeannie’s mither!” 

“ Tell me about it. Burgoss I — you have 
walked fifty miles?” 

“ No : I had a bit ride, but I walked the maist 
pairt of the way. I came fast too, an’ I rin awa’. 
They wad no hae let me come to save Jeannie’s 
mither ! Ye ’ll no let her dee, doctor ?” 

A mist gathered over ,his eyes, his skin paled 
under its summer tan, his lips blanched, he 
wavered like a reed in the wind. The doctor 
lifted him quickly in his arms, and laid him on 
a couch in an inner room. 

“ Now drink the beef-tea they will bring you, 


128 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

and then rest. When my patients are gone we 
will see what can be done for Jeannie’s mo- 
ther.” 

There was hope in his tone, and Duncan, 
lying back “ to wait for the doctor,” fell asleep. 

At four o’clock the doctor had made his 
rounds and stood by Duncan’s side. Hech !” 
said the boy, opening his eyes, I am sleepin’ 
like the sluggard in Proverbs. I am not fit to 
go the Lord’s errands — to gie way to sleep, an’ 
Jeannie’s mither deein’!” 

“ Tell me about her mother.” 

“ Doctor Dodd, sir, at Burgoss, says she maun 
dee, for no ane can save her but you. She can- 
na be fetched to town, an’ she has no money. 
Jeannie’s heart is breakin’; she is but twelve 
years old, frail like a lily flower, an’ has no ane 
but her mither in a’ the warl’. She is not fit to 
fight for her bread, sir. It ’s hard for a lad to 
hae no parents an’ be boun’ out. I ken it : I am 
sae mysel’. But a lass child, ye ken, wad find it 
harder. I could no believe if you heard o’ the 
case ye wad no come. That wad be sae unchris- 
tian-like, for a doctor-mon who follows in the 
steps o’ the Great Physician, ‘ the sympathizin’ 
Jesus.’ Ye mind, doctor, the Lord Jesus left his 
home in glory to heal the souls an’ bodies o’ 
sinfu’ men for dear love’s sake alone. Na doot, 
doctor, ye are like him, all the day goin’ aboot 


OF ERRANDS DONE FOR GOD. 


i2g 

doin’ good : an’ ye will turn aside for ane day, 
to cure Jeannie’s mither ; will ye no ?” 

This doctor had for long forgotten his Lord ; 
even when he attended church his mind had 
been on his “ great cases.” Jesus had not been 
the daily friend and pattern of his life. The 
boy’s plea brought to mind his mother’s piety ; 
her prayers, her tears, for him. 

The faith of the pleader, in the great man’s 
willingness to help, touched him ; that simple 
heroism — the little fellow, tired and hungry, trav- 
ersing those long miles to seek help for “Jean- 
nie’s mither” — touched him; he was a large- 
hearted man. Never before had the exercise 
of his profession been knit to Christ ; he had 
never felt that he was a yokefellow of the “Great 
Physician.” 

A deep awe stole over him. Making no re- 
ply to the boy, he wrote out a long telegram to 
Dr. Dodd of Burgoss. 

“ Ye are goin’, doctor ?” said Duncan, gently 
touching his hand. 

“ Yes. I can go on the midnight train, per- 
form the operation to-morrow, and come back 
at night.” 

Duncan sat up, his eyes glowing with joy. 

“To-morrow! Jeannie will no greet ony 
mair! Oh, ye maun feel grand an’ happy to 
save life! That is like the good God! Mrs. 

9 


130 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


Grant told me I could be a worker wi’ God, even 
in droppin’ corn an’ potatoes, to help feed the 
warl’, but life-savin’ is fu’ better. I maun no lie 
here idle. Haltons will be wantin’ me for corn- 
plantin’.” 

How will you get back ?” 

“ I maun walk. I hae no ither way. But my 
heart is sae light, aboot Jeannie’s mither, I ’ll 
win through.” 

You ran away, you tell me ; what will Mr. 
Halton say to you ?” 

Duncan caught his breath. 

“ Does he beat you ?” 

He never did, only maybe a skelp now an’ 
again, if I did no remember, or unnerstan’, or 
went too slow, like. But when I hae lost a week ; 
he ’ll be awfu’! Never mind ; I can thole it, sae 
ye save Jeannie’s mither.” ^ 

He sha’n’t touch you !” said the doctor i 

vigorously, “ not so much as with a straw ! You j 
shall go back in the cars with me, and first I ’ll 1 
fit you out with a suit. How would you like to j 
be my boy, and live with me, and by and by ] 
be a doctor?” \ 

“ How could I ever be good eno’ to leeve J 
unner the roof o’ a mon who is sae like the i 
great, mercifu’ Christ !” said the boy, in a low, | 
earnest tone. I 

Dr. Krief suddenly left the room. 1 


OF ERRANDS DONE FOR GOD. 


131 

The next afternoon a carriage stopped at Mr. 
Halton’s gate. 

“ Have you a boy named Duncan Leslie 
here ?” asked Dr. Krief. 

“No. I did have him, but the young scamp 
ran away just in the midst of corn-planting.” 

“ I called to see if you would let me have 
him.” 

“You are welcome to him, if you can find 
him,” said Mr. Halton grimly. 

“ Perhaps you have been at expense for him 
that I should make good to you.” 

“ Oh, no ; the youngster has had his board 
and a few clothes for the last three years, and 
went to school, but he has worked well.” 

“ He was a very good, faithful boy, and 
earned all he ever had,” spoke up Mrs. Halton, 
from the doorway. “ He was always mending 
broken legs of dogs or chickens, or torn combs 
of cocks, or sores on some of the dumb beasts.” 

“ The truth is, he is with me now. I am Dr. 
Krief, of New York, and Duncan walked to New 
York to ask me to come to Mrs. Grant.” 

“ He walked there for that !” cried Mr. Hal- 
ton, greatly amazed. 

“Are you the wonderful Dr. Krief?” said 
Mrs. Halton. “ Will Mrs. Grant live ?” 

“ I think there is no doubt of it. I brought 
her a nurse from the City Hospital. She owes 


132 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


her life to this boy of yours, who ran away to 
get help for her.” 

“ Bless his heart ! That was just like Dun- 
can : never to think of himself at all, and if he 
saw a thing right to do just to go on and do it,” 
said Mrs. Halton, wiping her eyes. 

'‘I declare,” added her husband, '‘that was 
fine of him ! Duncan always was the right sort. 
And you mean to keep him, doctor? Maybe 
you ’ll make a doctor of him. I ’d like to shake 
hands with him, surely !” 

At that very moment in Mrs. Grant’s cottage 
not far away, in the midst of the love and grati- 
tude which made the day the happiest he had 
ever known, Duncan was whispering over and 
over again : 

“Oh, Lord Jesus, make me fit to follow sae 
close in thy steps.” 

“I believe Alec would be something like 
that !” said Robert when the story ended, and 
with a gentle sigh of satisfaction at its happy 
close the hearers thanked Mistress Ainslie for 
her reading. 

“ Oh, Robert, dinna say that,” said Alec, look- 
ing for some shelter for his blushing face. “ Sic 
goodness is far aboon me.” 

“ It is a goodness that it does us all good to 
hear of,” said Mrs. Lyman; “and some way 


OF ERRANDS DONE FOR GOD. ijj 

these two stories told to-night remind me of a 
young girl whom I knew in London. Her name 
is Charlotte, and if you knew her I am sure you 
would think of her with the love and sympathy 
that I do.” 

“ Make us know her by telling of her,” said 
Miss Eunice. 

“ It is too late to-night ; but as I have not 
contributed to these stories so far, I will, if you 
like, read the sketch of Charlotte and some other 
sketches from a journal which I kept when I 
was living in London two years ago. I will 
read them to-morrow evening.” 

“ Nothing could be more interesting than 
that, I am sure,” said Madame Baron. 

The clock struck nine ; the children were 
escorted up stairs. As they went Ned asked, 
“ Say, Cicely, did you know that Charlotte ?” 

No,” said Cicely, but mamma often men- 
tions her and writes to her. I did n’t go to Lon- 
don two years ago. Papa didn’t want me to 
change school, so I stayed with my aunt in Phil- 
adelphia, where we lived then. Now Charlotte 
always seemed to me like a heroine because she 
belonged to a high family ; she was a piece of 
the nobility.” 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 


m 


CHAPTER VII. 

HOW VOICES CAME OVER THE SEA, 

“ But hearing oftentimes 
The sad, still music of humanity.” 

“ I wi&H,” said Robert enthusiastically, “ that 
the Big River would last for always. I think 
we are having the best time: plenty of folks 
here, no school, enough of reading in the morn- 
ing to be real interesting, and in the evening 
STORIES ! Ezra, how long will this flood last ?” 

« “ Longer than any sensible one wants it to,” 
said Ezra. “ Millions will be lost by it ; crops 
all washed out, cattle drowned, homes carried 
away, bridges and railroad beds destroyed. It 
may be fun for you, but terrible serious matters 
to plenty of folks.” 

“ I never thought of that,” said Robert. 
“ For how long will it last, though ?” 

“ The river is still rising, but I hope we are 
getting the last of it. You’ll have your fun for 
a week longer.” 

Ezra was mending the great back gate that 
opened upon the road, and Robert was sitting 
on the gate-post watching the process. He had 
just reported his morning work as finished. 


HOJV VOICES CAME OVER THE SEA. 133 

Ezra's friend, Mr. Slocum, came up the road 
with his big wagon piled with lumber bought 
from the broken raft. He stopped and spoke to 
Robert. Little sir, how would you and your 
mates like to go with me to my place at Doe 
Creek, eat your lunch there a-picnic, and come 
back this afternoon ? I have to come back for 
another load to-day. If you want to try it, bet- 
ter ask the schoolmaster to come too, and bring 
your lunch, for out at my place bacon and bread 
are about all our living. We 're scarce of women 
folks !" 

'' Oh, we 'd like to go, fine ! Will you wait a 
minute until I ask and get the lunch ? How will 
we go? Ride top of your lumber ?” 

“Jounce the bones out of you," said Ezra. 

“ Your grandma would n’t hear of it," said 
Serena. 

“Too heavy for my horses; they’ve load 
enough," said Mr. Slocum. Aren’t there rid- 
ing horses for you ?" 

“ Yes, there are," said Ezra. 

Robert dashed off, and came back hurrahing, 
followed by Mr. Vance, Ned, Ben and Alec. 
“ We ’re going ! Keziah ’s coming with a bas- 
ket of goodies. Grandma ’s helping put it up." 

Presently the horses came and the basket. 
Away started the party. Robert joined Mr. 
Slocum. 


136 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

“Why are ladies scarce where you live? 
Are n’t you married ?” 

“ No — not yet,” said Mr. Slocum. 

“Then why do you build a house? Men 
can’t keep a house ; they don’t know enough.” 

“ Well, sonny, I ’d like to have a house ready 
in case I ever do get married ; and then a farm 
looks low down and kind o’ peeled without a 
house and some good barns and such. I ’m 
from Pennsylvania, and farmers there are given 
to keeping things trim and trig.” 

“ I say, do you see that red house ’way over 
there — where the ground rises up and the three 
pines are?” 

“Yes, sartain,” Said Mr. Slocum. 

“ Sardinia Bowker lives there ; the one the 
story was about last night.” 

“ You do n’t say so !” said Mr. Slocum, sur- 
veying the place with great interest. “ Now I ’d 
feel pretty proud if any one wrote a story about 
me.” 

“Maybe there isn’t any story about you,” 
said Robert frankly ; “ and Sardinia wont feel 
proud, because she wont probably ever know of 
it.” 

“ Maybe I ’ll tell her some day, if we get 
acquainted.” 

“Will you tell me how so much money comes 
of pigs ?” 


HO IV VOICES CAME OVER THE SEA. ij; 

“ They fetch it. Heard of a man made eight 
hundred dollars out of pigs, starting from only 
two pigs, in five years. I remember, because 
he was a man that made a rule to give one-tenth 
of all he had to the Lord, and from them pigs 
he gave eighty dollars to missions.” 

“ Well, poor Sardinia did n’t have any to 
give away. She ought to have had hundreds of 
dollars,” said Robert. 

‘‘So she ought,” said Mr. Slocum with en- 
ergy. “ As for stories, sonny, it may be true 
there is none about me, but I can tell you a story 
I knew to happen, about a boy — nine-year old, 
mind you — and a great big bear. If you could 
get that young lady that wrote about Sardinia to 
write out my bear story then you ’d surprise ’em 
all with a story some evening.” 

“ Oh, do, do, do !” cried Robert. 

“You listen, then, and don’t forget a thing. 
I ’ll tell it as we get on toward my place.” 

“ I ’m real good at remembering,” said Rob- 
ert ; so the bear story was told, and Robert was 
in a state of great secret glory and joy, think- 
ing how he would rehearse the tale to Eunice 
and have it written for the family. His mind 
returned to this at intervals when Mrs. Lyman 
brought down a thick book stamped “Jour- 
nal,” and read three marked places, thus : 

“ My first sketch I call : 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


138 


‘‘AN ECHO FROM OVER THE SEA.” 

It came in a letter. H wrote : “ I have 

heard from Charlotte G . She is heart-broken. 

Bop is dead.” Charlotte is only the faithful 
factotum of a “ genteel lodgings ” in London. 
There is a world of pathos and poetry in these 
“ genteel lodgings ” in streets from which socie- 
ty prestige has, within a century, drifted away. 
There is none of this pathos and poetry in those 
lodgings freely advertised as “elegant apart- 
ments,” where in the new streets of the city 
ex-butlers and ladies’ maids, rubicund and vocif- 
erous, preside over lodgings. 

These people in the genteel lodgings of the 
decadence have a history, relics and traditions. 

Take, for instance, Charlotte G . That G 

bound her to centuries of English annals. The 
name represented a line once famous. There 
had been Earls of G , but they have per- 

ished. There are changes of fortune, and fami- 
lies weaken into decay, in the old world as in 

the new. The elder branch of the G s lapsed 

long ago. But the younger house survived and 
struggled. The block of brick dwellings, in 
one of which hangs the card, “ Lodgings to Let,” 

which hints of the last fight of the G s for 

existence — this very block, with its “ mews ” in 
the centre, stands where once stood the town 


HO IV VOICES CAME OVER THE SEA. 139 

house and grounds of the Earls of G . Then, 

when finances were very much run to waste, 
these houses were built and rented, and finally 
slipped out of the hands of the family alto- 
gether. 

Charlotte’s great-grandfather went into trade, 
sat in the House of Commons for the City, 
leased this house for ninety-nine years, lived 
high, gave dinners, and died impoverished. His 
son traded on the remnants of the family name 
and property, died early, and his widow inaugu- 
rated the letting lodgings. She took lawyers 
of the Inner Temple and “ sons of the clergy ” — 
nothing could be more genteel than her house 
or manners or lodgers, so they tell me. 

Her son, Charlotte’s father, ran his gamut 
from early effort and hope to early ruin and 
despair. Premature marriage, many children, 
much sickness, a dishonest partner ; a history so 
easily written in that concise form, but, oh, so 
hard to live ! A man old, bent, bald, gray, with 
the refined manners of the gentlemanhood that 
had been, he was one of the very many for 
whom the world has neither work nor room. 
He lived chiefly in the basement, helping his 
wife and Charlotte work for the lodgers, and 
he did the errands, wrote the letters and carried 
up the meals for a lawyer, an opium eater, who 
had lodged with Charlotte’s grandmother, and 


140 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 


was referred to by the family as The Third 
Story Front.” 

Charlotte’s father also washed the windows 
and did other heavy work in the rooms of the 
lodgers. When I and mine were known eu- 
phonically as “ The Drawing-room,” I returned 
one mid-morning unexpectedly from the British 
Museum. I observed that Charlotte looked em- 
barrassed when she admitted me. Arrived at 
the first landing, I saw, through the crack of 

the door, the descendant of the Earls of G 

polishing my drawing-room windows. I stole 
on to the upper room to avoid distressing him. 
Presently I heard a soft, swift step on the stairs. 
I looked over the baluster and saw the gray 
head losing itself down, down the stairway-well 
to the basement. 

On Sunday evenings Mr. G and Char- 

lotte, in their shabby garments, stole to the 
church around the corner, and the services, mu- 
sic, lights, prayers and sermon comforted them 
for the week that had gone and gave them 
courage for the week to come. A week ! It 
was all the future they faced ; it was long enough 
and hard enough surely. 

In Paris, in the Rue Rochambeau, our volu- 
ble landlady always followed up her statements 
with Mais r said with a shrug of her shoul- 
ders and lifted hands, all fingers spread. Mrs. 


HO IV VOICES CAME OVER THE SEA. 141 

G ’s bits of family history had also this cor- 

ollary, but, expressed with less pantomime and 
a world of resignation. 

When the girls went to Paris Mrs. G 

came up to solace me with facts and the accom- 
panying but. Mrs. G was not a laudator 

temporis acti. How could she be? The past 

had been like her present. “Mr. G was 

such a good man and educated, of family higher 
than hers, but once out of work always out.” 
She had “ a son, of nineteen, but he was an epi- 
leptic. The doctor said he might outgrow it, 
but — ” the poor woman shook her head. Mean- 
while the lad, indulged, pitied, allowed to be 
idle, was the family tyrant. I saw him. He 
wore a high silk hat, and carried a cane, and 
used the hard-earned sixpences of his mother 
and Charlotte for car-fare and cigars. 

The eldest daughter had been engaged to a 
clerk whose salary had been eight pounds a 
month ! “ They could have done so well, but — 

the firm failed ; the clerk had only pick-up jobs 
at present, the marriage was put off, and the 
promised bride managed a baker’s shop up 
Hampstead Heath way.” There was a second 
daughter, who worked for a dressmaker, and a 
third was in a cake shop. “One was engaged 
to a foreign correspondence clerk, but wages 
were too poor for them to venture on marriage.” 


142 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


On Sundays the three girls and the two lovers 

came home, and Mrs. G made a salad and a 

pie, and they were cheerful. “ Charlotte’s god- 
mother had educated her to teach in a public 
school, but whenever Charlotte went to be ex- 
amined she stuttered. Charlotte always stut- 
tered when she was frightened.” “You ladies 
are so kind to her she does not feel afraid and 
stutter to you ; but to the Board Examiners, 

dreadful!” However, what would Mrs. G 

do without Charlotte ? From six in the morn- 
ing until eleven at night Charlotte cleaned, car- 
ried trays and water and coal, blacked lodgers’ 
boots at a penny a pair, ran errands, and “ mind- 
ed Bop.” Bop was the last of thirteen, and, 
when she came, a row of little graves reached 
between her and Charlotte, and Charlotte’s heart 
was big enough to welcome Bop ! 

In order to rent all their rooms the G 

family lived in the basement and slept in “ press 
beds.” Bop saw no sunshine except when Char- 
lotte carried her out as she went on errands. 
Grown in damp and shadow, an anaemic little 
creature, I don’t wonder you died. Bop. But 
to Charlotte you were Picciola to the prisoner ; 
she is heart-broken for you, little Bop I 

Charlotte had an outing once, a country day, 
when she went to public school. Tickets were 
given them to a farm where grass, a brook, 


HOJV VOICES CAME OVER THE SEA. 143 

unlimited milk, tea and butter and curd cheese 
were afforded, and the visitors carried their own 
bread and meat. When Charlotte told of the 
glory of that day I observed that tears stood in 

the sweet gray eyes of the fair H , and the 

black, velvety depths of J ’s eyes took an 

added softness. They looked out of the win- 
dow and did not speak. But then their lives 
had been full of white days ; two hemispheres 
had provided their picnics, and they had not 
been obliged to carry their own bread and meat. 

Poor little Charlotte, pretty and prematurely 
old ! The carpet on which she stood had been 
a magnificent Axminster, over which, on this 
carved table, had feasted her parliamentary 
great-grandsire. The sideboard near her was a 
Chippendale, so were two of the chairs; the 
lounge was the cheapest of modern contrivances, 
with springs and stuffings in chronic disorder. 
All her surroundings were anomalies, and she 
tried to cover the hole in the toe of her boot 
with her too scanty skirt as she sat in St. Some- 
thing, where, under ponderous tombs, slept her 
great and useless ancestors. Busy, patient Char- 
lotte! She earned pennies by blacking lodgers’ 
boots — oh how muddy we got them ! — and she 
often gave her pennies to the poor ; and when a 
little child of the washerwoman died Charlotte 
spent a whole sixpence for a cluster of white 


144 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


azaleas, because the mother would feel better 
if the baby went away with flowers in its hand.” 
I suppose she put flowers in Bop’s hand, and I 
think no one ever prayed “Our Father” more 
whole heartedly than Charlotte. 

“ The poor dear girl !” said Madame Baron. 

“ She is a dear girl,” said Mrs. Lyman. “ I 
am expecting a letter from her. I wrote to her 
two months ago.” 

“ I hope it will come while you are here.” 

“ If it does not I will send it to you.” 

“ I see you have other places marked ; you 
will read on, I hope.” 

“ I wrote these sketches for the pleasure of 
my mother and sister. This next one opens up 
a phase of London philanthropic work. I shall 
be glad to read to you about 

“A DAY WITH A LONDON BIBLE NURSE.” 

“ Margaret Thorpe, why will you put your 
head out of the window — here in a London 
street, too !” 

“ Why, I can’t be running down to the door 
every time I hear a street cry, can I ?” said Mar- 
garet, bringing her brown eyes to bear on Cousin 
Amanda instead of the street. 

“ Certainly not ; what do you care about 
those street cries ? Common rough people. 


HO W VOICES CAME 0 VER THE SEA. 145 

bawling horrid little wares, what difference do 
they make to you ?” 

We are two Americans, here in a quiet 
street of London lodging-houses : no one knows 
us, or will ever see us after we leave here. What 
difference does it make if I do put my head out 
of the window ? But as to these cries, let me 
tell you they represent the last final struggle for 
bread, the desperate attempt to hold together 
a home ; they are the appeal of a forlorn human- 
ity for human help. Do but look at this man, 
Amanda ; he has on his back and in his hands a 
lot of the queerest little furniture made out of 
kindling wood. There, the cook across the way 
bought one, and a little girl from the corner has 
come for one. Man!” Margaret waved her 
hand to the street-vender, and dashed down to 
the front door. Cousin Amanda shut the win- 
dow with decision. 

'‘Penny each, miss,” said the man, holding 
out to Margaret queer little bedsteads and chairs, 
whittled out of kindling wood, put together 
firmly enough without glue or tacks, the little 
chairs cushioned with bits of handsome wall- 
paper pasted in. 

“ Did you make them ?” said Margaret, curi- 
ously examining a specimen. 

“ Yes, miss ; me an' the little girl. My wife 
does the cushions ; she ’s a cripple : she does 


10 


146 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

this an’ button-holes. I sells to the people going 
to market on Totten’am Court Road Sat’day 
nights, but las’ Sat’day night as was, I hed n’t 
no manner of success, so I come out with these 
this morning. Penny each !” 

‘‘ Give me a bedstead and two chairs. There 
is a sixpence for them. I ’d give you more, but 
that is all the change I have,” and Margaret 
looked regretfully at two gold coins, a guinea 
and a half guinea — well, no ; she ought not to 
pay those for the little wares. Margaret was 
seeing Europe under very economical condi- 
tions, and wants were so many and great all 
about her. The toy -seller looked very happy at 
his sixpence. 

“ See here, Amanda ! Now I call that inge- 
. nious ; all made out of pine kindling with a 
knife. His manufactory is his home — a room 
and a closet — where he lives with wife, baby, 
nine-year-old girl, and twelve-year-old boy. Stock 
in trade, a knife and sixpence worth of kindling 
bundles. The boy works all the week at a paper 
warehouse, gets three and six (seventy-five cents) 
and the scraps of paper which he sweeps up, and 
which make these chair cushions.” 

“ Horrors ! how do people live !” cried Amanda. 

Margaret set her trophies on the sideboard, 
where they looked odd beside castors, cut glass 
water-bottles, and other finery. 


HOW VOICES CAME OVER THE SEA. 147 

“ How long will you keep the ugly things 
there, Margaret?” 

“ Until the Lord asks for them.” 

“ Margaret Thorpe ! You are absolutely blas- 
phemous.” 

'‘No, Amanda, I am not. Doth God take 
care for sparrows? I believe that he is in all 
events, however small. He gave this poor 
house-father his ingenious idea ; he made these 
common toys the vehicle of sympathy between 
that poor toiler and me ; the mission of this pine 
furniture is not yet ended. Stand there, little 
pine toys, until God has need of you. Come !” 
this last addressed toward the door. 

“ Please, Miss Thorpe, there 's some one in 
the hall says the Lady Superintendent told her 
you wanted her. She is the Bible Nurse of the 
district, she says — ” 

“Oh, yes. Ask her up, Rosa. Mrs. Ran- 
yard’s famous mission ; you know, Amanda, I 
went to the rooms last Friday to give them a 
couple of pounds.” 

“ And went without something to do it,” said 
Amanda. 

“ You know each district has a Bible Woman, 
a Bible Nurse, a Lady Superintendent to over- 
look and help on their work. Then they have a 
Council of Directresses, a General Secretary, and 
a Superintendent.” 


148 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

Yes, Cousin Amanda knew that was a good 
work. Three countesses, two daughters of earls 
and two bishops were on the Board of Managers. 

Margaret stepped forward to greet a stout, 
elderly, motherly body, whose black dress was 
nearly covered by a clean gingham apron and 
who held in her hand an enormous black meri- 
no bag, now in a state of collapse. 

“ Come in, nurse ; I want to hear all about this 
district.” 

The nurse smiled. She did not often pay 
her visits amid Brussels and mahogany. 

“ Nurse, would n’t you take me with you for 
a day on your rounds? Indeed I could help 
well, and I want to see things for myself. Take 
me to-morrow. I will fill a bag and be a Bible 
Nurse for a day.” 

“ Indeed, miss, you are welcome to go. Can 
you be ready at eight ?” 

“ Certainly ; I and my bag. Be sure and call 
for me.” 

The nurse was at the turn of the stairs when 
Margaret stopped her. “ Wait, nurse, one min- 
ute ! Can you do anything with these ? I just 
bought them.” She held out the little bedstead 
and the chairs. 

“ Be sure I can !” cried the nurse. “ I know 
just the place for them ! Why this is a real God- 
send,” and into the bag went the furniture. 


HOW VOICES CAME OVER THE SEA. J4g 

‘‘•There !” said Margaret, going back ; “ I 
knew, Amanda, that the Lord wanted more ser- 
vice out of those bits of wood. Now for my bag ! 
May I put in the rest of that box of caramels of 
yours ? Thanks. Here ’s a little bag of sweet 
biscuit ; I bought them for tea ; I ’ll go without 
those. Here ’s this little roll of silk and cambric 
bits that you threw out of your trunk, and those 
temperance papers, and the dozen lovely cards 
that came from New York the other day ; and 
oh, the Lord’s Prayer, large print, on muslin, 
that I bought on the Strand, and this glass of 
marmalade ; and then pins, needles, thread, but- 
tons ; I can spare those, and four sixpences from 
my trunk, and two handkerchiefs. Ah, now I 
and my bag are ready !” 

“ What !” said Margaret. “ Do you go to 
such nice places as this ?” 

Margaret and the nurse had paused at a lit- 
tle well-painted door with a stained-glass panel, 
and beside the door a window with three pots of 
blooming flowers. “ This is the best-off patient 
I have,” said the nurse. 

An old dame, gnarled and twisted with rheu- 
matism, was sitting in a big chair. Her face 
was full of content, though every few minutes it 
was drawn up in a grimace of pain. 

“ Here ’s a lady from America to talk to you 
while I do up the room,” said the nurse, who 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


^50 

at once began her regular work of dusting the 
room and making the bed. 

*‘ My Jem gets breakfast, and sweeps, and 
waters the flowers, and keeps the window and 
the steps clean,” said the old woman. “ He 
sleeps in the little room there. Naught is in it 
but his cot, for Jem will keep all the things 
where I am to see. From America, are you! 
Ah, there ’s where every one is rich. I tell my 
Jem he ought to go there ; but la I horses could 
not drag him away from me ! Yes, I ’m crippled 
hand and foot, and I do suffer awful. It ’s three 
years since I Ve walked a step ! But the Lord ’s 
been so good, giving me my Jem to do for me 
the way he does. And here ’s nurse, reg’lar as 
day, comes and tidies me up, and at noon a little 
lass comes in and mends my fire and feeds me 
my broth. Jem gives her a penny a day for it. 
La ! when I see she 's clemmed, I often say, 
‘There, ’Liza, I can’t eat but half that soup; do 
you drink the rest and save it.’ It ’s all the way 
I have of doing good, and so much is done for 
me ! The ladies of the Society sent me this 
good flannel gown last week, and there’s Jem. 
He works in a stained-glass factory. Do you 
see the door? He made that of scraps, over 
hours. You see, when I was first took I fell, and 
was three months in hospital with a broken hip. 
Jem came three times a week reg’lar. I feared 


HO IV VOICES CAME OVER THE SEA. iji 

he might get led off ; but no, he paid up our 
debts, and papered and painted this room, and 
made the door and got the flowers, and just 
before I came home he cleaned the house. He 
even cleaned under the bed, and that’s got a 
valance and had n’t been cleaned under for five 
years; had it, nurse? And Jem, he cleaned 
under the bed, and found things I ’d lost years.” 

Nurse had finished her work and was wash- 
ing the old dame’s face and combing her 
hair. 

“You and Jem are death on cleanness,” said 
the dame. “ I tell Jem he ’ll be getting mar- 
ried, but Jem says he ’ll have no sweetheart but 
me. 

“ Here ’s the Lord’s Prayer printed on mus- 
lin with a pink border about it,” said Margaret. 
“ I ’ll pin it up on the wall, and this card with a 
landscape and a temperance text. Jem will like 
those.” 

“Ay, that he will, bless you! Come from 
America !” 

Up stairs in a dismal house climbed the 
nurse. There was an eight-year-old girl “ mind- 
ing ” a baby of two months, and three little tots 
beside, one a neighbor’s child, “minding” for 
twopence weekly. Here the mother was a char- 
woman, the father in a lunatic asylum for the 
last six months. Nurse washed the baby and 


152 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


prepared a bottle for it, washed the children’s 
faces, heard them say their prayers as they 
stood in a row, and then she aired and helped 
to tidy ” the room. There was no fire, for 
economy and fear of accidents. 

Margaret gave the little girl-mother a paper 
with pictures in it and divided the caramels 
among the children. One was tied in a rag for 
baby, and three were laid up “ for mother.” To 
these Margaret added a sixpence, whereat the 
child-woman rejoiced. 

Now to another one-room home, where by 
the only window sat a thin woman making but- 
ton-holes, and on a bed in a corner lay a young 
girl far gone in consumption. The nurse pro- 
ceeded to make the invalid and her bed neat, 
while Margaret sat by the mother. 

“ Ten hours a day, hard at it,” said the wo- 
man, “ to make a shilling a day. If I fail of 
that, there is only to starve, for there are four of 
us : two girls too little to do aught but to go to 
school, an’ her and me. If nurse did ’t come 
here to clean up and dress Amy she ’d just lie 
and suffer. She suffers enough now. Nurse!” 
in a more cheery tone, “there’s a nice clean 
new gown to put on Amy. The Lady Superin- 
tendent called and brought her a loaf and three 
span-new nightgowns.” 

“ Now read me my chapter,” said Amy, and 


HOW VOICES CAME OVER THE SEA. ijj 

nurse read the fourteenth of John. “I’m never 
tired of that,” said the girl. 

“ Would you like me to come back and read 
and sing to you, now and then ?” asked Mar- 
garet. 

“ Oh, miss, it would be ’eavenly !” 

Margaret made a mental note of coming and 
bringing some of the food left at her own table. 
She placed the bag of biscuits and the marma- 
lade on a chair by Amy. “ Oh, miss, all that 
for me ! Please make mother eat four of these 
biscuits to hearten her up ! She ’d hardly a bite 
of breakfast.” 

At the next place behold an old woman 
propped up in bed, knitting. Beside her on the 
bed rolled a fat three-months-old baby, laughing 
at a sunbeam, while tied by a stout cord to the 
leg of the bed nearest the grandmother was a 
child of twenty months, who played, rolled, or 
cried, as suited him, at the end of his tether. 

“You see,” said the grandmother, as Mar- 
garet looked surprised, “if we let him loose 
he ’d get into the water-bucket or the fire, and 
I couldn’t get after him or do for him. Now I 
can drag him back by the cord to feed him or 
put him to sleep. You see the bread and cold 
tea are here on the shelf over my head. My 
daughter goes charring for a shilling a day and 
her dinners, and she gets in at noon to look 


IS4 the house on the bluff. 

after the baby and mend the fire. I make about 
eighteen pence a week knitting ; that keeps us 
in coals.” 

“ What does the children’s father do?” asked 
Margaret. 

“ He ’s a thief, and he ’s in prison !” said the 
woman bitterly. “ He ’s got five years this time, 
nurse. Poor lad ! He was good-natured and 
good-looking. Never had no chance, that ’s what 
he did n’t! Baby fat? Yes, he is, and pleasant, 
like his daddy. Why, miss, are you giving us 
sixpence 1 Sarah ’ll make that buy us meat for 
three days, bless you !” 

Nurse had washed the children, tidied the 
room, brought some water, and now read the 
old woman a chapter and offered a prayer with 
her. 

“ Makes me feel the Lord ain’t forgot us,” 
she said softly. 

At the next place the nurse said, “ The eldest 
girl here, seven years old, nearly died of fever, 
and we have had her two months at our Seaside 
Home.” 

This tenement was of two rooms, very clean, 
light and comfortable, and down stairs. A 
cheery, clean woman was doing plain ironing, 
evidently her business. 

“ Oh, nurse, our little Nell is coming home 
to-night with the Bible-woman ! We ’re all ready 


HO W VOICES CAME 0 VER THE SEA. 13s 

for her. I went to see my old mistress yester- 
day and she gave me a rocking-chair and a flan- 
nel gown for Nell, and bits of carpet to put in 
the playhouse the father made for her. See!” 
she showed a drygoods box, set on its side, divi- 
ded into two rooms. 

‘‘ The little boys worked at errands on Satur- 
days and scraped together sixpence and got a 
threepenny doll and a twopenny box of pewter 
dishes and a penny table. I shall find some bits 
and let Nell dress the dolly, to learn to sew. 
Wont she be happy when she comes and sees 
it all !” 

The nurse, full of joy, took from her bag 
the little bedstead and two chairs given her by 
Margaret. 

Now we are complete !” cried the mother. 
“ 1 11 make a pillow and mattress this very noon ! 
Oh!” 

Margaret went into the depth of her bag. 
“ Here is a roll of pieces for the doll’s clothes 
and bed-clothes.” 

The good mother clapped her hands. “ Wont 
father and the boys be proud when they see it 
all ! I often admire how the Lord favors us in 
little things !” 

At the next house nurse had a new-born 
first baby to dress and the young mother to 
make comfortable, and meanwhile there was a 


1S6 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

little talk of the moral and spiritual responsibil- 
ity newly come into this home, and of the Lord, 
“ who was a great lover of children.” Margaret 
left another sixpence and the sewing materials, 
and promised to come again and bring baby a 
frock. 

Across the way a mother and grandmother 
were sewing hard at slop-work, while three or 
four children sat hungrily about the floor, and 
on the bed lay a little dead baby, the body 
waiting for nurse to prepare it for the burial. 
If the women paused in the work the other chil- 
dren would be without food. 

“Of what did the baby die?” asked Mar- 
garet. 

“Of lack of all things,” sighed the nurse; 
and Margaret’s last hope of buying a lovely tile 
with a copy of the “ Angelus” upon it fled as 
she spread her handkerchief over the small 
dead face and laid a golden guinea in the little 
cold hand. 

Nurse read some verses aloud from the Bi- 
ble; the women could at least listen as they 
worked, and the verses were from Revelation, 
the favorite portion of these sad, suffering poor. 
Then all knelt for a minute or two while nurse 
prayed. Then she and Margaret went to see 
the parish officer about a coffin. This was Mar- 
garet Thorpe’s day with a London Bible Nurse. 


HO IV VOICES CAME OVER THE SEA. ijy 

**We need just such Bible Nurses here in our 
cities,” cried several. “ Is your next extract on 
the same theme ? 

Not quite, but a story of one man’s great 
work — the man an editor— and I will tell you 
about 

AN editor’s venture.” 

Frances Hope was wandering through the 
streets of what the Post Office Directory ” calls 
“ London, E. C.” She came to St. Bride’s street, 
and presently went up a dark and narrow pair 
of stairs, opened a dingy door and stood before 
a low railing which divided a small, gloomy, 
gaslit room. Behind the railing a clerk wrote 
letters at a desk, and in a corner a youth and 
maiden folded and directed newspapers with 
mechanical rapidity. “ Very different from the 
office of a popular paper in my country,” said 
Frances to herself, and laid her card on the 
clerk’s desk. 

The clerk opened a gate in the railing, and 
then turned the handle of the door behind him. 
Frances considered this an invitation, and en- 
tered the inner editorial sanctum as the procla- 
mation “ Miss Hope ” was made. 

The editor had swung his big chair around 
and was facing a large, rosy. North-country 
woman, who sat opposite him. Spread out on 


138 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 

the dame’s lap was an infant’s long frock, and 
on one of her hands, shut into a large fist, was 
placed, as on a head, a baby’s white cap; on 
the other hand, as on a clothes hook, hung a 
little lamb’s- wool cloak. “Ain’t they sweet!” 
said the woman, with great pride. 

Frances stopped short ; this was such a fun- 
ny spectacle for an editor’s office I The editor — 
he was middle-aged and handsome — sprang up, 
“ Miss Hope ? Glad to see you. Mrs. Cave, 
one of our foster mothers, here after a baby, 
and by the sounds the baby seems to be coming. 
They do n’t usually cry like that ; the children 
of poverty are silent and patient.” 

Here a big lad came through the door by 
which Frances had entered ; he was very red in 
the face and carried a baby also very red in 
the face, and with its mouth wide open. Sud- 
denly introduced to so many strangers, the baby 
stopped mid-way in a shriek. 

“ It ’s all my fault,” said the boy. “ I hit its 
head, along of my awkwardness, turnin’ of the 
stairway.” 

“ Bless its heart !” said Mistress Cave. 

The editor took the baby, and something in 
his skilled handling or his genial face com- 
forted the creature into a weak watery smile. 

“ Here he is ; there — go to your mother !” and 
he put the babe into Mrs. Cave’s ready arms. 


HOW VOICES CAME OVER THE SEA. ijp 

Bless him ! Why, he ’s quite heavy ! What 's 
his name ?” 

“ Whatever you choose. He goes to you 
homeless and nameless.” Then laying his hand 
on the child’s head, “ You promise solemnly to 
take this child to train for the service of God 
and the benefit of humanity ?” 

“ That I do,” said Mrs. Cave heartily ; and 
if I ’m to name him I ’ll call him Joe, after my 
man, and that will make him proud.” She 
slipped a bit of barley sugar into the child’s 
mouth and proceeded to look him over. 

** I believe he ’ll be real handsome when 
he ’s fatted up a bit. I should n’t wonder if his 
hair would curl — yes, he ’ll be a brave lad when 
he gets hearty, and out in the country he will 
get hearty, though he is peaked now.” 

He ’ll thrive, I ’m sure. I am surprised at 
the vigor these poor waifs show. Only two 
have died, so far.” 

“ I must get off to my train,” said Mrs. Cave, 
and so slipped the white frock on over the baby’s 
clothes. “ He ’s real clean, sir ; well washed 
surely.” 

“ Oh, yes. As soon as a child is made over 
to me by the court I send it to a good woman — 
wife of one of our printers. She washes it, dress- 
es it in any clothes that my friends have sent 
in, and feeds it well until the foster mother gets 


i6o THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

it. I like the poor things to start in their new 
life fairly^." 

I ’m no foster mother ; I will be its own 
mother. There now ; don’t the hat and cloak 
become the dear! Wont my Joe be proud of 
him I I ’ll write you, sir, and come and see us 
when you can.” 

With a handshake for the editor, and a cour- 
tesy for Frances, Mrs. Cave disappeared with 
her baby. 

“ Number what ?” asked Frances. 

“ Sixty-eight !” cried the editor triumphantly. , 

And only two dead ?” 

Only two.” 

‘‘ And any sent back on your hands ?” 

Well, one, a girl seven years old, came back 
three times. The home kept her a week, then 
sent her packing, as she was demoralizing the 
other children. The next people who took her 
returned her in a fortnight as ‘ she had nothing 
lovable in her.’ The third family who proposed 
her adoption held out for a month, and then 
found her noise so wearing on an old and feeble 
grandmother that they could not keep the child. 
Finally, an ex-governess on an annuity took her 
and she has kept her, and is expecting to make 
a decent woman of her.” 

“Any other disasters?” 

“ A boy two years old, given up by father, 


HO W VOICES CAME O VER THE SEA. i6i 


mother said to be incurably insane. At the end 
of a year the mother recovered and demanded 
him. The foster-parents were much grieved.” 

“ That leaves sixty-four permanent adop- 
tions, without any trouble, in — how long ?” 

“ Five years,” said the editor. “ See now, 
here is a box of pictures and letters from our 
adopted parents. Read them, look at them, 
while I see to my mail.” 

Frances looked over two or three dozen pho- 
tographs and tin-types of little jolly comfortable- 
looking children. The letters were from people 
in all walks of life. This daintily- written docu- 
ment spoke of “ dear Marie’s nurse,” that other 
of “a consolation to my widowed heart,” and 
“ soon shall need a good governess.” This was 
one from a minister who had “ adopted a sister 
for a family of boys ;” this from a country bank- 
er who found “ the bright adopted boy a great 
treasure to his hitherto brotherless girls.” But 
most of the letters were from plain, middle-class 
people ; shop-keepers, farmers and mechanics. 
Some letters were from families who had emi- 
grated with the adopted child to Australia, 
Canada, or the United States ; one was from an 
army sergeant in India. 

“ Dear child,” “Great joy,” “Well loved,” 
“ Great comfort,” “ A blessing,” these were the 
expressions. 

II 


1 62 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

The editor had finished his mail. “ Please 
tell me how it began,” said Frances. 

“ Over five years ago some one sent for my 
paper a little story about two street Arabs, bits 
of lads, who had neither shelter nor friends, but 
loved each other. The younger was arrested 
for stealing — a biscuit ! The elder, to prevent 
a separation, boldly avowed that ‘ he had took 
lots of things, apples and biscuits, and a tart.’ 
The judge, surveying the small culprits with 
pity, said, ‘Take them to the prison together, 
and have them kept together.’ At the prison 
they were well washed, barbered, clad in clean 
night clothes, fed sumptuously on hot soup and 
a stale roll, and put into two hammocks slung in 
a cell side by side, each provided with a warm 
blanket. As the jailer closed the door he heard 
one say, ‘ Ho ! Bob, ain’t this fine ! Wisht we ’d 
stay here forever ; do n’t you ?’ The story closed 
by asking : ‘ What is to become of these little 
lads? They cannot stay in the prison forever.’ 

“ Now, though only a pathetic tale, founded 
on fact, this story had such verisimilitude that a 
childless Cornish farmer wrote asking to adopt 
those two lads, ‘ and make men of them.’ 

“ That letter overwhelmed me when I thought 
of the real children that needed just such offers. 
I could not suffer so much philanthropy to go to 
waste. I wrote to the famer, offering to send 


HOW VOICES CAME OVER THE SEA. 163 


two equally needy boys though not the ones 
mentioned. I sent two little lads found by the aid 
of a kindly policeman. In a month came a letter 
of hearty thanks and good news. Then I wrote 
an editorial on * Childless Homes and Home- 
less Children,’ and told what this good man had 
done, and offered to provide other children for 
other homes. God sent my words home to many 
hearts. In a week five offers to adopt homeless 
children came. The work grew. I had offers 
of homes for children and appeals in behalf of 
children left destitute by the death, desertion, 
insanity or criminality of the parents. The 
police, the city missionaries, Bible women, or 
poor neighbors, found the children, the columns 
of my paper found the parents. The respon- 
sibility of the proposed parent must be guar- 
anteed to me by a minister and a magistrate. I 
place children only in Christian families.” 

' And what rules do you have for this work ?” 

“ Christian people, who are willing really to 
adopt the child, who take it without receiving a 
word of information as to its birth or parentage. 
I do n’t want the poor ones handicapped, when 
they grow up, by stories of their infancy. Let 
them start fresh and fair. As to the children, 
they are to be between one day and five years 
old, and made over to me for adoption by the 
magistrate. Usually the proposed parents come 


1 64 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

for the child. Sometimes I have to find some 
one to take it to its home. I correspond, as you 
see, with them all. I visit some of the homes, 
my wife and some friends visit others ; the cler- 
gymen near visit the rest, and report. Now and 
then some one gives me a pound, or two, or five, 
for the first expenses. That drawer there is 
never full, but never empty : I have enough for 
the very few charges entailed by the work. And 
what a work ! Sixty-eight saved children !” 

Frances Hope went down the dingy stairs, 
and along St. Bride’s street, thinking with how 
very little red tape, and how very little money, 
sanctified common sense and Christian love can 
do a great philanthropic work. 

“ That editor is a man after my own heart,” 
said Mr. Danforth ; “ plain practical common- 
sense, that works with the tools it has and does 
good deeds without bravado or self-praising ! 
God speed his work, I say ! I wish I could shake 
hands with him.” 

“ And it is all true,” said Miss Eunice. “ Em- 
phatically and exactly true.” 

“ I wish we could have some more of it,” said 
Mr. White. “ I am glad to treasure up what 
good, earnest, quiet workers are doing for God 
and for humanity. Then when I tell others it 
may suggest to them that they in their several 


HO IV VOICES CAME OVER THE SEA. ids 

corners can do their especial work, and find work 
to do if they look closely at need and opportu- 
nity.” 

“ That same editor had another venture 
which much interested me,” said Mrs. Lyman ; 
“ it is written of in this same note-book. I kept 
this book for my mother’s benefit, as she is deep- 
ly interested in all benevolent schemes.” 

“ Please read the other venture, then, my 
dear,” said Madame ; “ we are all anxious to hear 
it.” 

“ Very well, if I am not occupying more than 
my fair share of time,” said Mrs. Lyman. 

You are praising another’s work, not your 
own, so give us the story without fear.” 

ANOTHER VENTURE OF THE EDITOR. 

Frances stood looking out of her window. 
Her lodgings were in Gover Street, simple lodg- 
ings, of a quiet, safe, old-fashioned pattern. 
She was waiting for the postman. She wanted 
to see her mail before she went out, and mean- 
while she looked up and down the street and 
considered what she might do. She might 
spend the day at the British Museum, or she 
might go to Windsor. It was just the day to 
idle about Hampton Court, or to go to Hamp- 
stead Heath and lose one’s self in rural spaces. 
There, however, came the postman, and the lit- 


1 66 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

tie maid of the lodgings, whose dull existence 
was greatly brightened by Frances’- smiles, came 
up with a letter. 

It was from that enterprising editor— briefly : 
“ Will you come and be one of my scrap-book 
prize committee ? You maybe interested. Be 
at the office at ten.” 

Frances had never heard of the “ scrap-book 
prize,” but she had ample faith in her ability to 
do whatever she was requested to do. The edi- 
tor was given to original ideas ; no doubt here 
was one of them. Certainly she would go. It 
was now eight ; she could spend an hour among 
the Museum marbles and be at the office early 
enough to be enlightened as to her duties. 

Arriving at the office she found its small 
space yet further narrowed by a row of tables, 
constructed of boards on trestles, set around the 
wall and covered with white cotton cloth. On 
these improvised counters, or tables, lay a rain- 
bow assemblage of bright, shining, merry-col- 
ored, merry-shaped be-ribboned things, which 
reminded one of St. Valentine’s Day, or of a 
wholesale Christmas card dep6t. Fortunately 
the editor was alone. He stood in the middle of 
the room and surveyed rapturously these treas- 
ures. 

“Tell me all about it,” said Frances. 

“ First, look at them. Did you ever see 


I/O IV VOICES CAME OVER THE SEA. 167 

scrap-books so pretty and of such varied de- 
signs ?” 

Frances and the editor began a slow pilgrim- 
age of examination. 

‘‘ See here ! This one is a palm-leaf fan tied 
with a bow, bound with ribbon, and on both 
sides large-print texts of Scripture — think of 
that for some feeble old person ! There is one 
on muslin, the edges of the leaves pinked, the 
pages filled with bright child-scenes; an inde- 
structible one that ! Here is one made on square 
gilt-edged cards — in a box. Here is one solidly 
bound in cloth — little tales, texts, poems and 
pictures mingled ! This one is all made of nice 
engravings ; this is a comic one, all in black and 
white ; and here is a comic one bound in mot- 
ley, and filled with colored cuts. Look at this 
one, a cloth roll in a tube; it pulls out slowly, 
making a panorama of lovely pictures ! Here is 
one bound in silk, and filled with rhymes, slum- 
ber songs, and little poems, each carefully and 
fitly illustrated. Here is one entirely of Scrip- 
ture scenes — all the incidents in the lives of 
Joseph, Moses, Daniel and John the Baptist. 
Here is a beauty: a large fan of heavy card- 
board, tied with silk cords, every fold of the fan 
a different picture on each side.” 

Yes, it is all beautiful, ingenious— but how 
did it come about, and how many are there?” 


i68 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

“ Two hundred and one ! And how it came 
about was in this way. I offered in my paper 
three prizes, first, second and third, for the nicest 
scrap-books. The competition to be open to all, 
old and young, subscribers or not ; and the scrap- 
books after the decision to be distributed among 
the hospitals. The committee of award will be 
yourself and two other ladies ; the prizes are — 
first, a pound ; second, a handsome book ; third, 
a year’s subscription to my paper. I expect the 
other ladies of the committee each moment. 
After you have made your decision, and I have 
had the pleasure of serving to you tea and buns, 
you are to go in a cab and distribute the scrap- 
books in the Children’s Hospital, the Hospital 
for Incurables, the Maternity, and some others. 
The ladies whom I am expecting are well ac- 
quainted with our hospitals, and I think the 
visits paid with them will be of great interest to 
you.” 

They will be so, indeed,” said Frances ; “ and 
as 1 am to help choose for prizes, and divide for 
the hospitals, I might as well be getting acquain- 
ted with my work.” 

The other members of the committee pres- 
ently arrived : a white-haired, noble-hearted el- 
derly lady, and a woman of middle age dressed 
in deep mourning and bearing traces of great 
sorrow. The editor had told Frances about her. 


NO IV VOICES CAME OVER THE SEA. 169 

She lost her husband, mother and two children 
within a month, and instead of shutting herself 
up with sorrow, as the manner of some is, she 
had taken the unhappy to her heart; and went 
about doing good. 

The editor departed to the outer office and 
^the three began their work. 

“ How much of earnest and ingenious think- 
ing these represent in their making !” said the 
old lady. “ I cannot feel that they were ‘ made 
just to take prizes.* Here are dozens evidently 
prepared with no expectation of a prize at all ; 
but solely with the hope that in the hospitals 
they might give help and pleasure. Look at this 
one : the work of a child, and evidently of a 
rather poor child ; some of the pictures have 
been carefully cleaned with bread crumbs ; most 
of them are cheap advertisement pictures, and 
some of the edges are not quite evenly trimmed. 
But how much pity for children in hospitals has 
been worked into this humble little book ! I 
think some invalid made this light one of* large- 
print texts. I seem to see prayers, like angels, 
hovering around them all, and binding the heart 
of unknown giver to unknown receiver.’* 

“ And think of their history in the years to 
come,** said the pupil of sorrow. “ These will last 
a long while, doing their work. What messages 
of hope and forgiveness may go to perishing 


170 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


ones in these texts and hymns ! What long hours 
of pain will be lightened and shortened by these 
pictures and stories! How forlorn little ones, 
who have never had anything pretty or bright 
to hold, will cling to these ! We cannot count 
the great harvests that may rise even from such 
poor, insignificant seeds ; love and prayer and 
faith are the sun, soil and rain for sowing like 
this.” 

And at last the three prize books were se- 
lected and laid on the editor’s desk until their 
owners should be discovered, and the scrap- 
books were sorted for five hospitals. Then the 
editor came in, and a boy from an adjacent cook- 
shop brought a tray of tea, cake and sandwiches. 
After that little refreshment the cab came, and 
the three ladies and the five parcels of scrap- 
books were taken around to the hospitals. 

That was an afternoon of experiences to 
Frances. Such sadness, patience, pity, courage, 
with darker shadings of remorse or despair, as 
filled up the canvass of the day, until the night 
began to fall I The gray-haired lady asked her 
coadjutors to come home and take tea with her. 

“ It seems,” she said, “ as if I had to-day met 
those of whom I would not willingly lose sight. 
That tall girl — only support of an old father. 
She will go out to the world again crippled. It 
means even more to her than to most to have 


NOW VOICES CAME OVER THE SEA. 171 

a limb amputated. Fear of starvation is on her 
face. Something must be done for her.” 

“ I will take her first to sew for me for a 
month,” said Frances. “She can have good 
meals and good pay. When that month is end- 
ed you may have found other patrons for her.” 

“ Those two little children — the girl and boy 
orphans — shall find their home at my fireside,” 
said the widow. “ I thought I heard a voice say- 
ing, ‘ Take this child and nurse it for me, and I 
will give thee thy wages.’ ” 

And so the evening grew late ; they planned, 
and in their hearts and for other lives grew 
some further harvests of the “ editor s venture.” 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


17s 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A LONG RAINY DA Y. 

“ Men die, but sorrow never dies, 

The crowding years divide in vain, 

And the wide world is knit with ties 
Of common brotherhood in pain." 

On Wednesday the elders of the party at Ma- 
dame Baron’s gathered at the breakfast table with 
rather gloomy countenances. Mr. Vance was 
disturbed about the long lapse of school work in 
his Academy ; Mr. White found all his appoint- 
ments disarranged by his enforced delay ; Mr. 
Tracy had two weddings at which he should be 
present, but would be notoriously absent ; Mr. 
Danforth’s business could ill afford this stay; Mrs. 
Lyman, Mrs. Hastings and Mrs. Danforth were 
anxious about the state of their houses and the 
hindrances to spring work. Only the children 
were thoroughly contented, and as they looked 
out of the windows and saw the black skies and 
the rain falling in torrents, and remembered 
that it had rained all night, even the children 
felt that the day was a dull one and the pros- 
pect for a falling river very poor indeed. 

However, none of Madame Baron’s guests 


A LONG RAINY DA Y. 


ns 


were so heathenish as to grumble at the weath- 
er, or to allow themselves to be made miserable 
on account of it. They would indeed have 
rejoiced in sunshine, and to see the river within 
its proper bounds ; but they cheerily concluded 
to make the best of things as they were. 

An unusual amount of work seemed to be 
needed that morning from the children ; then 
Mr. Vance made the morning reading longer 
and more interesting than usual, while Cousin 
Eunice brought from what Madame Baron called 
the “ emergency closet ” four or five new games, 
which had been there hidden for exactly such 
discouraging weather as this particular Wednes- 
day. About three o’clock every one had talked, 
read, sewed, played, until they were all tired of 
each of these proceedings ; moreover, the day 
was so dark that reading was trying to the eyes. 
Said Madame, “ Let us vary our order of enter- 
tainment to-day, and have an afternoon story.” 

“ To fit the day it would need to be of a sad, 
stormy nature,” said Eunice; “something like 
Longfellow’s rain song. Come, Cicely, let us 
sing that, while all our friends put on their 
thinking caps and search their brains for some- 
thing pathetic, tender, melancholy.” 

Eunice seated herself at the piano ; Mr. Vance, 
Cicely, Mrs. Lyman and Mr. Tracy stood about 
her and sang : 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


n4 

“ The day is cold and dark and dreary ; 

It rains, and the rain is never weary ; 

The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, 

But at every gust the dead leaves fall, 

And the day is dark and dreary. 

“ My life is cold and dark and dreary ; 

It rains, and the rain is never weary ; 

My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past, 

But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, 

And the days are dark and dreary. 

“ Be still, sad heart ! and cease repining ; 

Behind the clouds the sun is still shining ; 

Thy fate is the common fate of all : 

Into each life some rain must fall ; 

Some days must be dark and dreary.” 

“ I know a story that would just fit that song, 
and this day,” said Mr. Danforth: “first the 
sorrowful facts, the loss and pain ; then the spirit 
despondent, broken, repining ; then, the com- 
fort of God coming in, patience, resignation, 
hope set in the beyond. Emma, it is that story 
of the fishermen which you wrote long ago.” 

“ Oh, Henry ! I am sure that is not much of 
a story ; and now that you have said what would 
cause people to expect something good I should 
be ashamed to read it.” 

“ I did n’t know you ever wrote stories, Mrs. 
Danforth,” said Cicely Lyman. 

“ I do not, my dear. The year after I left 
school I spent the summer at a little seaside 


A LONG RAINY DA V. 


175 


village, and there one of those sea - tragedies 
occurred, which so often happen, and touched 
me deeply. I wrote it out into a story. My 
father was the owner of a book-bindery in the 
city, and as he was well pleased with my story, 
and very indulgent to me in all things, he had 
my tale printed, and then bound — one dozen 
copies only ; and very beautifully bound they 
were, in pale sea-green with silver edges, and 
the side-stamp trails of sea weeds. We had it 
ready for my mother’s birthday gift. Of course 
I have carefi^lly kept a few copies ; my children 
will like them ; but equally of course I did not 
bring my precious brochure with me when I 
fled here from the rising waters.” 

“ My dear Emma,” said Madame, have you 
forgotten that I was one of those who received 
a copy of your only literary work ? Or do you 
suppose that I valued it so little that I have lost 
it, or that I have worn it out with reading ? It 
is in the drawer of the oak bookcase at this very 
minute, and I propose to get it out so that there 
shall be no excuse about reading it.” 

“There, now,” said Mrs. Hastings, “the ta- 
bles are very well turned on you, Emma ; and 
thanks to Aunt Baron and your husband we are 
to have a story just suited to the day.” 

“ Very well,” said Mrs. Danforth. “ I will 
read it on the supposition that in our dearth of 


jyd THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

occupation to-day anything will be better than 
nothing. All I have to say of it is that it is 
true, and happened during the summer when 
I was making holiday on the little island where 
the scene of the story is laid. As the outside of 
this booklet is decidedly better than the inside 
I will pass it around first, for you to admire the 
covers. I think my good father flattered him- 
self that with so very much encouragement I 
would make authorship my profession, and be- 
come a shining light in literature. My gifts 
did not lie that way, but entirely in the line of 
domestic occupation, and my only literary work 
remains, 

“ A STORY OF TWO POOR FISHERMEN.” 

“ I pray you hear my song of a boat, 

For it is but short : 

My boat, you shall find none fairer afloat, 

In river or port. 

Long I looked for the lad she bore 
On the open, desolate sea ; ‘ 

And I think he sailed to the heavenly shore. 

For he came not back to me.” 

Beyond the blue sun-kissed waters of North- 
umberland Straits there lies a low green island 
lovingly lapped by the cool waters of the north, 
set apart from all the world, and, until within 
the last century, by all the world forgotten. 
The little island has had no active part in his- 


A LONG RAINY DA Y. 


177 


tory : no saint has here seen visions, as on Pat- 
mos ; no poet has sung it into fame, like the 
isles of Greece ; it has not, like Corsica, flung a 
thunderbolt among the nations. It has had its 
tragedies and its comedies, its heroes, its joys, 
and its heartbreaks ; but they have been those 
of humble life, and have gone down, under the 
spray-salt sods of the little country churchyards, 
buried in the hearts that suffered them. 

For a little band of Americans, who came 
yearly from Cape Ann to fish along this coast, 
one of these tragedies began on a September 
evening when all the north-western shore was 
transfigured by the glory of the setting sun. 
The great red clay cliffs stood up in the crimson 
light like walls of ruby ; the bare, storm-scathed 
pines that fringed the bold foreheads of these 
cliffs were for the time lit up into bright shad- 
ows of that bush that burned unconsumed ; all 
the broad sand beach below the headlands 
gleamed like the priceless dust of jewels ; the 
line of treacherous rocks that ran out here and 
there had little pools, left by the retreat of the 
morning tide, and these pools were red like 
blood ; so was the sea red in a broad track be- 
tween the land and the crimson clouds, and on 
either hand the red softened to purple, and 
fainted into a dull blue, far out of reach of the 
evening splendors. 


12 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


178 


Along the smooth beach came a strongly- 
built, quick-stepping young woman of twenty- 
five ; healthful, dark, courageous, she looked a 
true daughter of sun and sea. Her abundant 
black hair was caught up in a loose knot with 
quite as much careless grace as the locks of her 
sisters in the cities ; a gay-hued handkerchief 
was loosely knotted about her full throat ; her 
sleeves rolled up showed arms round and strong ; 
she was bare-headed, because she was warm ; 
shoeless and stockingless, that she might walk 
easily over the sand ; she had pinned her best 
green gown high up over her short, striped 
petticoat, and on she came, along the shining 
sands below the burning cliffs, a model of vigor 
and cheerfulness. Over the glowing sea she 
cast long, happy glances, and with her thoughts 
straying further and further out on the waters 
her steps became slower, and as she reached a 
deep curve in the shore, where the sand line 
was broad and smooth, she searched for a 
mussel-shell, to try the fisher-maidens’ favorite 
superstitious charm. 

As we may divine, this stalwart damsel’s 
lover was far out with a fishing-schooner, and 
now she was going to challenge the fates for a 
promise of his safe return. The maid was wise 
in her generation : she eyed the tide now rising 
to see how nearly it was in ; she considered of 


A LONG RAINY DA Y. 


m 


the time of the moon and of the height of the 
water yesterday. She would risk no unfavorable 
oracle and a sleepless night. Then she knelt on 
the beach and wrote with the shell her lover’s 
name in the sand — only Tom Turner,” but 
the romance of her life was in the letters of 
the common name — and throwing away the pur- 
ple and silver shell wherewith she had clearly 
shaped these letters she went back into a hol- 
low of the cliff and sat to watch what would 
come. She clasped her shapely brown hands 
behind her head as it rested against the red 
clay, the drifted sand, scattered with sea-weeds, 
and purple mussels, being a familiar seat to the 
fisher-maid ; the light changed her smooth, sun- 
darkened skin into a rare warm bronze. 

Up came the tide, the white foam beads en- 
viously curling near the flourishing capital T’s, 
then creeping away ashamed. The girl shut 
her eyes to count a thousand— that done, she 
would see if the name were gone or if the tide 
were slipping back and leaving it unharmed, 
an omen of Tom’s safe return. Meanwhile a 
younger woman came slowly along the sand 
from an opposite direction. She had an anxious, 
almost fretful expression ; but as she turned the 
corner of the rocks that formed the dark girl’s 
grotto of divination her face brightened, as she 
cried out : 


i8o THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

Why, Bessie !” 

Bessie opened her eyes. 

“ Sit down — I’m seeing if Tom’s coming 
back safe. Will you. write Joe’s name?” 

“ No ; let it be,” said the woman, sitting down 
wearily ; “ I do n’t believe they ’ll ever come 
home safe. I just feel as if the Susan was 
doomed for this trip.” 

“ Bless you, girl ! that ’s only ’cause you ’re 
poorly and in low spirits. You ’ll laugh at your- 
self by the time Joe and your mother get in 
safe. Folks are always having whims like that, 
but they never make out anything. Did you 
get lonesome because I was away this after- 
noon ?” 

“ Yes — no — the parson’s lady called for more 
than an hour.” 

“ Oh, I believe the tide is turned, and Tom 
is all right !” cried Bessie, jumping up to look 
at the damp water-mark just below her inscrip- 
tion on the sand. “ Turned, as sure as you live, 
just at the edge of the letters !” 

“ If it shows anything, it shows he ’ll just 
miss being lost. Did you choose the spot with 
your eyes shut ?” asked the young woman, rous- 
ing to a little interest. 

“Yes; I whirled three times, shut my eyes, 
and then wrote straight out from where I 
began.” 


A LONG RAINY DA Y. i8i 

“Well, if you’d written Joe’s name you 
would have put it first, you know you would, 
and it would have been rubbed out.” 

At this imputation Bessie laughed, and to 
turn the dismal current of her companion’s 
thoughts asked, “What did the parson’s wife 
say for all that time ?” 

“ Oh, the old talk about piety ; as if I had n’t 
enough to think of now without vexing myself 
with things I can’t see ! I says so to her. Says 
she, ‘ It would give you an easy mind.’ It would 
be hard havin’ an easy mind, I told her, with 
Joe here and there on the sea, as I fear and hate 
with all my heart !” 

“Don’t hate the sea!” laughed the buoyant 
Bessie ; “ why, it made Joe’s living and mine 
from the time we was little ones, when our fa- 
ther died in his bed with fever — ’stead of in the 
sea as a sailor should.” 

“ Yes, but your mother had the comfort of 
his last word and look,” said the pensive sister- 
in-law. 

“And she caught the fever and died,” said 
the practical Bessie. 

“ Poor Joe !” sighed Joe’s little wife. 

“And poor Bessie !” said Joe’s merry sister; 
“ we were in the same boat, and we had a hard 
pull of it. We ran about bare-legged among 
the fishers, buying trays of fish and carrying 


1 82 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

them to town on our heads to sell. Then Joe 
went out fishing, and I sold the fish ; and winters 
we kept one of the wreckers’ houses in the gully, 
and a power of drownded men we handled one 
way or another, and many of them we saved 
and some we could n’t, and that was how I came 
across Tom, when the poor fellow looked as 
dead as a door nail. There now, he came to and 
we are to be married ! And Joe captain of a 
schooner, and you for his wife. Shame on your 
sober face, Mollie ! We ’ll be as gay as crickets 
when the Susan gets in and the baby has 
come.” 

“ Yes ; the parson’s wife, says she, ‘ Do n’t 
you want to be a Christian mother to your little 
one when it gets here ?’ 

I told her I laid out to be a good mother, 
like my own before me, and she was n’t pious ; 
we all do well enough in our way, I ’m sure.” 

“ Well, I think Tom Turner is as good a 
fellow as you ’ll find, and it would n’t do for me 
to get pious on his hands, for he says he hates 
cant, and does n’t believe a word of it !” said 
Bessie. 

“ When I told her how I hated the sea says 
she to me: ‘Wouldn’t you like Him for your 
Father that holds the sea in the hollow of his 
hands, and hears all that cry to him on wave or 
shore ?’ ” 


A LONG RAINY DA Y. 


“ Why, what did you say to that, girl ?” 

“ I told her the truth : that I felt afraid of 
Him, and heaven looked kind of fearsome, so 
high up and far off ; but I ’d talk to Joe, and if 
he tried religion I would with him, but not else.” 

Poor Mollie drooped her head against Bessie’s 
strong shoulder, looking more than ever shy 
and gentle and anxious in contrast to that dash- 
ing maiden. 

“ Do n’t trouble your head,” said Bessie ; “ if 
the Lord is good and kind — and of course he 
is — he ’ll give us success while we do our best.” 

The two rose and walked slowly along the 
way Joe’s wife had come. They had not gone 
far when an ungainly, cross-eyed, bow-legged 
man shambled by them in haste. Mollie drew 
close to her siser. 

“ How I fear that awful man !” she whispered 
nervously. 

Bessie laughed in sheer merriment. 

‘'Fear that poor crooked old soul! Why 
girl, where ’s the harm in him ? He wont touch 
you!” 

“ Not fear for myself, but for Joe : to think 
of Joe’s life being in his hands.” 

“ It isn’t in his hands ; how can it be ? Joe’s 
life is in his schooner, a good sound boat ; and 
he knows how to manage her, and so does Tom. 
Life in his hands!” 


1 84 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 

“ Yes, it is. He keeps the light-house, and 
he is stupid, and slow, and queer ; and just think 
of the rocks along this coast, and all the ships 
and the men trusting to a light-house kept by 
that crooked creeping thing, that never kept a 
light-house before. Oh, Bessie, Bessie !” 

“ I declare you ’re crying ! What a silly 
child ; you are not one bit like yourself. Come 
on home and let me put you to bed ; you ’ve 
walked too far.” 

Bessie put her strong arm about her sister- 
in-law and accommodated her swift long steps 
to Mollie’s more quiet pace. The fierce red had 
died out on land and sea. Little black-headed 
sheldrakes perched on ledges of the cliffs, and 
peered down at the sisters. The gulls whirled 
in wide circles near shore, and the broad- winged 
gannets swept out, out afar, toward a mass of 
black cloud into which the sun had dropped 
suddenly, and which now grimly shut up all the 
glory of the west. 

“ The Susan should have got in yesterday,” 
said Mollie. 

“ Wind the wrong way,” said Bessie, cheer- 
fully. 

“ Only think, Joe and my mother and your 
Tom — all we care for — on board one little ship,” 
continued Mollie. 

“Well, it ’s a little ship that has always come 


A LONG RAINY DA K 185 

in safe and well-loaded, and you know this 
summer has been about the best fishing that 
ever we have had, and prices high at home: 
we ’ll go back to Cape Ann quite rich, girl, and 
some day we ’ll all club together, you and Tom 
and Joe and I, and we ’ll buy the little white 
house on the Cape, where we can see all the 
ships go by, and we ’ll live like princes ; won’t 
we ?” 

“ Oh, did I tell you ?” said Mollie, rousing 
cheerfully : the parson’s wife brought me such 
a sweet little dress and blue cloak, with a hood 
to it, and made me take the present ; they are 
so pretty !” 

“ There, that was more like sense than her 
preaching ; but she’s a good woman, and thinks 
she ought to do the preaching.” 

They came out of the shelter of the cove, 
and a fierce sweep of wind rushed on them from 
the sea, almost taking their breath. 

A storm ! I knew it, I knew it ; and see 
the white-caps away off ! Oh, Bessie, what shall 
we do !” 

“ Nonsense, child ! was there never a storm 
before ?” said Bessie, stopping to watch the long 
rollers that began to break on the beach. “ The 
bonnie white horses! I’ve played with them 
many an hour. Look, Mollie, how grand ! See 
them coming up into the bay.” 


i86 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

“ It will kill my Joe and my mother,” said 
Mollie, covering her face, as she fell to sob- 
bing. 

“ Never a bit. The Susan can ride out a sea 
ten times as high. She knows the port, and will 
have the light ; and with this wind at her back, 
and Joe or Tom at the wheel, she ’ll run in as 
light as a bird.” 

Still Mollie sobbed on, refusing to be com- 
forted. Patiently aiding her steps, and striving 
to cheer her, Bessie led her on to their plain 
little home, not a quarter of a mile from the 
light-house, toward which the keeper could be 
seen making his way over the rocks. 

One room below stairs and two above was 
the little dwelling put up by these wanderers 
from Massachusetts for their summer home. 

It was clean and weather-proof, and that was 
about all ; for these people were poor, and were 
saving all they possibly could of their hard-won 
gains to establish themselves comfortably on 
their native coast. The vision of a white cottage, 
with window blinds and a carpet for the best 
room, hung before them like a pleasant picture 
in this bare abode. The floors were clean scrub- 
bed, the bed beautiful from its neatness, the cur- 
tains to the windows were newspapers, fanci- 
fully cut in festoons and open work, and the 
furniture was chiefly of their own manufacture. 


A LONG RAINY DAY. 


187 

A huge old-fashioned bandbox held a rainbow 
assortment of patchwork, the work of Bessie for 
her future home, while near Mollie's “ barrel- 
chair ” stood a big basket filled with carpet rags, 
and balls of the same well cut and sewed. 

Have done with your dumps,” said Bessie. 
“ I ’ll get supper, and you ’ll see our folks home 
to breakfast.” 

“ It will be so dark and rough,” said Mollie, 
looking anxiously toward the gray light-house 
tower ; “ why does n’t he light that lamp ?” 

“ He will ; it is early yet,” said Bessie, stir- 
ring about the stove, and then, while her kettle 
was boiling, going to bring a basketful of shav- 
ings and chips for the morning fire. 

The night shadows fell swiftly. The tireless 
Bessie lit her lamp and forced her despondent 
sister to the table. 

“ Eat your supper, girl ; do n’t you see the 
light-house lamp is lit ? That ’s all right.” 

“ It does n’t half burn, seems to me,” said 
Mollie. 

“ That is only because your ideas are so large 
to-night. Why, child, rather than have you 
worry so, I '11 run over and scare that old scare- 
crow in his den and look after the lamp myself. 
Say the word, Mollie.” 

“No, don’t go,” said Mollie. “ I guess I ’m 
tired and cross, and with the trouble of all our 


1 88 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

folks in one boat, when I always was afraid of 
boats and of the sea.*’ 

“And married a sailor !” cried Bess. 

“ So I ’ll go to bed early, and feel better to- 
morrow ; only you must sleep with me, Bessie, 
for I feel afraid.” 

“ All right,” said Bessie, “ only Joe ’ll be 
coming home before morning, and drive me up 
stairs.” 

Mollie Wentworth was indeed tired out ; ex- 
hausted in mind and body, she soon was lost to 
all consciousness of the rising storm. Bessie, 
accustomed to the sea, fearless by nature and 
with firm faith in her brother and lover, and in 
the Susan, slept soundly until suddenly aroused 
by her sister, who started up with a shrill cry, 
“ They are drowning ! They are drowning ! 
Joe ! Mother !” 

In an instant these two young women were 
on their feet ; they heard the pounding of the 
surf like the tramp of hosts, the beat of drums, 
and the wild clangor of trumpets along the shore. 
The wind screamed madly about their roof, 
the night was black as the grim caverns of the 
ocean’s depths. They rushed to the door, looked 
where the light-house should blaze with safety 
to all that coast — and the light was gone ! 

They had but one thought : the beacon must 
be re-lit — perhaps the lives of their loved ones 











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A LONG RAINY DA Y. i8g 

hung on that vanished flame. Bessie caught her 
basket of kindlings, thrust a box of matches into 
her pocket, and having huddled on her clothes, 
she knew not how, was soon flying along the 
shingle, her shavings protected by her ancient 
water-proof mantle, and an oil-can in her hand, 
bumping against rocks and trees as she took 
her headlong way. Poor Mollie forgot her 
weakness and fatigue as she stumbled, half-clad, 
after her stronger sister. Bessie forgot her for 
a time, but when she reached the low line of 
rocks running out into the sea, among which 
the waves were clashing and boiling, she stopped 
to shout to her to go back. In a lull of wind 
and water she heard Mollie cry to her to go 
on.” Well, she would go on. Mollie was not 
likely to hurt herself past remedy, but six lives 
might be lost in one little schooner beating 
along an unlighted coast. 

Here was the light-house door; the latch- 
string had been drawn in; Bessie fumbled a 
second, calling aloud, but the next instant she 
set her strong shoulder against the door and 
burst the shabby fastening. 

“Man! Man! Nick Hays! where are you? 
Your light is out !” 

That was Nick Hays shuffling on the stair, 
and Bessie rushed against him and threw him 
backwards as she hurried up. 


igo 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 


“ It wont burn,” gasped Nick. “ I don’t un- 
derstand it. I can’t manage the oil.” 

Come up,” cried Bessie, pressing on : “ for 
the love of heaven, how long has it been out ?” 

“ I do n’t know. I found it out when I came 
up. I was going for a light.” 

They were up in the tower, and Bessie lit 
some of her shavings. The lamp looked hope- 
less enough. Bessie piled up fuel on the brick 
floor, and poured some oil on it. The broad red 
blaze spread out, a glorious beacon, over that 
black sea. 

Mollie saw this in her last painful steps be- 
fore she reached the door, and came up weeping, 
trembling, and blessing Bessie. 

“ Oh, you poor soul !” said Bessie, still tend- 
ing ‘her fire, “ go down and get into the bed ; 
Nick and I will keep this light up.” 

But how could Mollie sleep, when even now 
those she loved the best might be tossing up 
and down on the cruel waters, at the very point 
of death ? She crouched in a corner, and pres- 
ently Bessie found time to strip off the poor 
thing’s wet dress and wrap her in a bed-quilt. 

So until morning Bessie watched, sleepless 
as a vestal guarding and feeding a sacred fire, 
meanwhile encouraging her sister, and anon in 
good strong Saxon execrating Nick, who, when 
lives were to be lost or saved, could let his light 


A LONG RAINY DA Y. 


igi 


go out while he was asleep. Nick’s cross-eyes 
glared, but he scrambled up and down, obeying 
Bessie’s orders like a whipped cur. 

Poor Bessie ! She gave orders with a faint- 
ing heart, for all through the night as she gazed 
out into the gloom she saw no Susan speeding 
into port, with dripping sails spread wide, like a 
storm-beaten bird gaining its nest. 

So the gray day dawned, and as Bessie, with 
chill fingers, steadied the light-house glass and 
swept the horizon in search of her brother’s 
craft she caught no welcome glimpse of hull or 
spar. 

No need to stay longer. The dull sunless 
day lay with equal light on land, and sky, and 
sea. All now to be done was to go wearily 
home, and wait, and weep, as is too often wo- 
man’s portion in this world. So she took Mollie 
by the arm, and they two went back the way 
they had come, to find the home cold and lone- 
ly, the door blown open, and the rain beaten 
across the floor. 

All day Bessie worked about the house, and 
ran along the cliffs, looking through her spy- 
glass for the schooner’s sails. We know she 
was one who could not pray for her beloved ; 
she could only look vaguely up to the lowering 
sky and wonder if Omnipotence could suffer 
ships and lives to go down unhelped ; feeling. 


* THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


ig2 

if God let the Susan and her precious freight 
perish, that God must be her foe. 

Still, as the day grew and waned, these wo- 
men watched and waited, and questioned all the 
sailors and fishers at the harbor about the Susan, 
and what they thought of the storm. 

Some small vessels made port that night, 
and Bessie ran down to meet the crews, stand- 
ing forlornly in the fog that clung and dripped 
like rain. 

“ Have any of you seen the Susan ?” 

“ Aye, aye ; ain’t she in ? She passed us like 
a bird yesterday mornin’,” said one captain. 

“ But she is n’t in. Oh, what do you think of 
her?” 

“ Aye ? not in ! That ’s bad, girl. The Su- 
san ’s a main fast sailer ; and the brother is in 
her? And maybe some other body you ’ve your 
mind set on ? Well, keep your heart up, girl ; 
she may get in yet.” 

She may ! ah, that was but a small and bitter 
crumb of consolation ; she dared not carry it 
to poor Mollie, who was already nearly dis- 
tracted. 

So another night, another morning — not 
gray, but sun-bright. Bessie rose up with a 
lighter heart. 

“ Other ships have got in safe, so may the 
Susan,” she said to Mollie. “We’ll look for 


A LONG RAINY DA Y. iqj 

them this day.” And she set her house in 
order. 

But, alas, before the sun was high, news of 
wreck crept along the coast. Some fishing ves- 
sel had been cast away, and the sad tokens of 
the disaster had been driven in shore during 
the night. All the men and women living near 
were hurrying by to see if they could ascertain 
what ship it was; for the schooners Portland 
and Maggie were also missing with the Susan. 

So on they went to that very cove where by 
the magic of shell and sand Bessie had striven 
to spell out Tom Turner’s fate. Here they lay, 
spoils of the sea : a bit of spar and a ragged 
fragment of cable ; a keg ; an empty barrel ; a 
pillow ; a ship’s knee, and a great iron spike, an 
inch and a half in diameter, bent like a scrap of 
wire ; and a bar of iron that Bessie, the strong, 
could scarcely lift, flung up here by the mighty 
water like a weed. 

Nothing yet to determine whether the lost 
boat was Portland, Susan, or Maggie, and whose 
heart must break. But rising and falling on 
the long swells came in a larger fragment, for 
which all waited breathless— nearer, nearer, the 
men drag it in — a portion of the deckhouse. 
What is this over the door Certified to ac- 
commodate five seamen.” 

Then it is the Susan; the Portland’s cuddy 


m 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


was marked eight, the Maggie’s only four. To 
make assurance doubly sure, here is T. B. cut in 
the wood. Bessie knows when and by whom. 
That sunny June morning when they fixed the 
marriage for October Tom set here his initials 
and hers, and made under them this rude heart 
and arrow. 

“ Oh, Tom, Tom ! are you dead — and people 
say that a good God rules over all ! A kind God ? 
a father? No; only a tyrant who crushes peo- 
ple’s loves, and blackens their lives, and mocks 
their woe.” It is thus that distracted Bessie’s 
smitten and rebellious heart pours out its grief 
and rage. 

As for Mollie, she has mercifully passed into 
oblivion, lying on the sand with her head in an 
old fish- wife’s lap. They cannot leave the beach : 
the sea may, half-repentant, give up the dead 
bodies of its prey. All day they watched and 
moaned ; and with the evening tide, lo ! a body 
floated shoreward. Bessie rushes knee-deep into 
the water with outstretched arms ; Mollie lifts 
her heavy head, and gazes at the in-coming 
corpse in a mute despair. Well, it is in at last. 
Not Captain Joe of the stalwart arm ; not high- 
hearted Tom Turner ; not the old mother, com- 
ing to care for her daughter and receive in her 
hands her first grandchild. None of these; with 
slender limbs cold, and light hair dripping, and 


A LONG RAINY DAY. 


^95 


coarse garments half torn away by the waves, it 
is orphan Ned, the boy ” of the Susan, a sort of 
pet with Tom and Joe. This dead lad, laid on 
the yellow sand, his face upturned to the sky, 
has a heavenly peace on every feature. Not a 
trace of battle ; not a contortion of despair ; no 
moan could have passed those lips. Heaven in 
storm and darkness had stooped nearer and 
nearer, and there had come a small loss that 
God had made eternal gain. Oh, to know the 
last words and visions of this child, who had 
died a hero, smiling on death ! 

That is all. They watch and haunt the beach 
for days, but no more fragments of the Susan, 
no more bodies of the dead. 

The Portland gets in mastless, broken, her 
cargo gone, barely afloat ; but is not that enough ? 
Her eight seamen live. 

The Maggie went to pieces on a reef, but her 
four men got safe to land. 

We are the only ones to lose. We are the 
ones God forgot to take care of ; if he held 
those raging waters in his hand, why did he 
not by a merciful breath save the Susan?”- 
Thus raves Bessie to the pitying minister and 
his wife. 

Mollie did not rave. They almost wish she 
did. Alas, poor Mollie’s mind has gone astray. 
All day she sits in a melancholy muse, or wan- 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


ig6 

ders up and down the beach moaning her word- 
less pain to wind and wave. 

The fishing people are kind. Neighbors 
bring Bessie work and wages. The parson’s 
wife comes to them like a sister ; but, charms she 
never so wisely, these two women are deaf ad- 
ders that will not hear a gospel of peace. When 
she can no longer hope to minister to their souls 
the parson’s wife ministers to their daily needs ; 
they can love her, and in a measure understand 
her, but they will have nothing to do with God. 

So six weeks pass by since the wreck of the 
Susan, and Bessie is waiting, feeling sure of Mol- 
lie’s approaching death. But the anticipated 
danger is no danger. There is no mother to 
comfort ; no father to rejoice in a new born son, 
but Mollie’s living child lies in Bessie’s arms, 
and Mollie’s mental darkness clears away, and, 
while realizing all her loss, Mollie is sane once 
more. 

Loving her child, Mollie was not made hap- 
py by it ; her sorrows had made her face old and 
wan, and her hair gray ; she looked twenty years 
older ; hapless young widow ! 

Of course Bessie expected to return to Cape 
Ann, to old friends, when Mollie was well, but 
to this Mollie would not consent. She fixed her 
mind strangely on staying on that chilly coast, 
and on keeping the light-house. 


A LONG RAINY DA Y. 


ig? 

“We lost onr people because Nick Hays neg- 
lected the light ; you and I will tend it, Bessie, 
and it will never go out.” 

So, in spite of all Bessie could say, Mollie 
would stay and keep the light-house on the coast 
where her husband perished. It was easy enough 
to get the position. Nick, of course, must lose 
his place, execrated for his neglect. Public sym- 
pathy was with the bereaved sisters ; their con- 
duct on the night of the storm was known ; the 
minister helped on the plan, when he saw their 
hearts were set on it. Bessie knew their own 
hands must support them ; there would be great 
expense in going back to Cape Ann, and they 
had no relatives there ; perhaps to stay and keep 
this light-house, and wash and sew for people 
near, was the best they could do. It was thus 
that they remained on the shore. Nick Hays 
fled from popular indignation ; the few house- 
hold goods of the sisters were moved into the 
lower story of the light-house, and here the cold 
long northern winter closed about them, shut- 
ting them out from the world ; shutting them in 
to their loss and pain. 

By times the minister came to see them, 
struggling through storm, snow, and fierce winds. 
He brought them books, he talked to them, he 
prayed with them ; they merely endured his min- 
istrations. Bessie flatly refused to entertain his 


ig8 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

views. “ God,” she said, “ was not her friend.” 
He had set himself against her, and abused her, 
when she had never done anything particularly 
wrong; she deserved better treatment than she 
had received ; she would not humble herself 
under the mighty hand of God ! 

Mollie, however, admitted that there might 
be comfort in religion : love to God might be a 
balm to her broken heart ; but such feelings 
would seem to set her farther than ever from 
her husband. “ Joe never said anything about 
these things ; if he was up in heaven I would 
not be afraid, I would try and get there too ; but 
I could not go there without him, and Joe is at 
the bottom of the sea. I can’t try to be a Chris- 
tian if my Joe was not one.” This was all the 
minister could make of Mollie. 

Mollie had a fashion of going up on the 
tower and staying there for hours. Finding 
Bessie alone in one of his visits, toward the end 
of winter, the minister warned her that the widow 
was in a morbid state, and might throw herself 
from the tower. 

“ She wont so long as the baby lives,” said 
Bessie. 

“ Does she seem to take comfort in the 
child?” 

Comfort, sir ? What comfort can there be ? 
Can’t you see for yourself that he ain’t like other 


A LONG RAINY DA Y. 


199 


babes ? He ’s simple, sir ; poor dear, his mother’s 
trouble hurt his brain.” 

The minister’s surprise and profound sympa- 
thy so touched Bessie that she said : Well, per- 
haps it will do you good to know that Mollie 
looks much into the Bible, and that all her cry is 
now because she and Joe did not study it togeth- 
er, and join church together.” 

So with this morsel of encouragement the 
minister went home. 

The long dreary winter passed ; the ice loos- 
ened from the shore, and floated away ; slowly 
the deep snows melted from the earth ; ships 
again were seen in the offing ; life began to wake 
up in the harbor ; the boats were being made 
ready for summer fishing ; the shoals of her- 
ring came up along the coast ; the grass grew 
greener every day; the ploughing and sow- 
ing had begun, and when it was May commerce 
once more went on across Northumberland 
Straits. 

On one of those early May days Mollie was 
upon the light-house tower, looking, as usual, 
wistfully over the blue waste where her hopes 
had perished, and Bessie in the living-room was 
rocking the cradle while she made a dress for a 
neighbor, when with the opening of the door 
came a hearty voice crying, ‘‘ Bess ! Bess !” — the 
voice of one that had perished in the sea ; the 


200 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


voice of one for whose destruction she had up- 
braided Heaven ! 

It was not the part of this hearty fisher-girl 
to faint with joy or surprise ; but for certain the 
sewing, the cradle, and even Mollie, whom no 
such glad amazement awaited, were forgotten, 
and Bess flew at Tom Turner, and hugged and 
kissed him as a lover risen from the dead de- 
served. Then delight suddenly gave place to 
grief — her brother, with whom she had shared 
hard and pleasant experiences ; she leaned back 
on Tom’s encircling arms. 

“And my Joe’s gone, lad? My good, true 
Joe — and her mother, too?” 

“Aye, Bess, they’re gone. ’Twas a dark 
night for us all. But the Lord saved me — praise 
his name! — and I reckon he took Joe where 
they ’re better off than we.” 

Was this jolly, careless Tom that was speak- 
ing so heartily of a protecting God and the final 
rest? 

“ What ’s come to you, Tom ?” asked Bessie, 
awe-struck. 

“ I hope it ’s the grace of God, my girl, and, 
if so, all we ’ve suffered is well paid for.” 

“ But you ’re not talking like yourself, 
Tom.” 

“ Like a better man, because having a better 
Master,” said Tom, with a hearty smile. 


A LONG RAINY DA Y. 


201 


Bessie slipped away from him, awe-struck. 

Let me go tell poor Mollie,” she said. 

She ran up and clasped her sister to her 
bosom. “ Oh, my poor child that has lost Joe 
and will never see him more !” she said, weep- 
ing. Ah, Mollie, it was my own dear brother 
that you loved, and that went under the sea; 
and yet you ’ll be glad for me that God did not 
take all I had, Mollie, for Tom Turner ’s come 
back alive and is safe below stairs.” 

''And my Joe was drowned!” said Mollie, 
moaning. " And our Joe was drowned — and all 
the rest!” 

By and by she came down stairs with Bessie. 
Tom had the babe in his arms, and he kissed its 
mother, saying, " I have heavy news for you, my 
girl ; but says Joe to me, ' If you live through it 
you ’ll look out for my wife ;’ and here I am, a 
brother to you ever.” 

"And my Joe’s deep in the sea!” said Mol- 
lie, hopelessly. 

" Please God, he ’s safe in heaven,” said Tom. 

" Tom, Tom, tell me all about it,” said Mol- 
lie, grasping his arm, eager for every word. 
Tom began : 

" You see, there was no light ; the wind drove 
to the shore and no light-house to be seen, and 
we went astray before we knew it. We didn’t 
know we were in sight of land, missing the 


202 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


lamp, you know, wken we struck fair on a reef 
and the Susan cracked like a nut. Joe and I 
were trying to fasten your mother to a ,mast 
when a wave swept us all down, the five men 
and your mother, and she and one man went 
over, and we saw them no more.” 

There was a sobbing pause for all of the little 
group in the light-house, hearing this story of 
death. Tom went on : 

“ Joe and the boy Ned, and the other seaman 
and I, held on, and we knew we could n’t hope 
for anything. ‘ All is lost !’ says Joe ; ‘Ned, 
we ’re lost.’ ‘ No,’ says Ned, ‘ God has stood by 
me in life and he ’ll save me in death. It is a 
short step to heaven, captain.’ ‘ It ’s well for 
you,’ says Joe, ‘but I ’m lost, Ned.’ ‘ No,’ says 
Ned, ‘ the Lord Jesus is as near as ever he was 
on shore, and he says he’s able and ready to 
save. Catch hold of him, captain.’ ‘ I can’t,’ 
says Joe; ‘there ain’t time.’ ‘It didn’t take 
long for Peter to get hold of him when he 
thought he was going under,’ says Ned, for we 
were all hanging to the mast and each other, 
and talking loud, so we could hear. Says Ned, 
‘ Captain, the Lord Jesus is walking here in this 
storm ; you cry out to him hearty, and mean it 
with all your heart, and he ’ll hold you that fast 
you can’t be lost.’ ‘ Why, boy, he wont hear a 
sinner,’ screams Joe. ‘ Them ’s the very kind 


A LONG RAINY DA Y. 


203 


he does hear, having died for ’em,’ says Ned ; 
‘ do n’t you be afeard to trust him, captain ; I 
ain’t.* 

“So Joe began to pray, crying out earnest, 
and the Susan went to pieces faster and faster. 
I says, ‘Joe, we wont see morning.’ ‘No,’ says 
Joe. Ned calls out, ‘ Cap’n, are you afraid now ?’’ 
and Joe sung out, ‘ No !’ ‘ Are you going to hold 
fast to the Lord, Cap’n, and he to you ?’ sings 
out Ned. * Yes,’ says Joe ; and a big wave lifted 
us up high, and flung us and the Susan all 
abroad like straws, and I found myself in the 
waves holding on to a piece of the mast. I had 
.just sense enough left to hold on, and early in 
the morning I was picked up by a vessel. It 
turned out she was the ship they send from the 
Provinces every year to the New Hebrides with 
stores for the misionaries, and there were two 
missionaries aboard of her. Of course I had to 
make the trip, and then I sailed for New York, 
and so got round to Cape Ann, and found you 
two were living over here keeping light-house. 
So over I came on the first ship of the season.’’ 

“ Well ?’’ questioned Bessie. There was some- 
thing Tom had left untold. Tom understood 
her. 

“You see, I had been the nearest death ever 
I was, Bessie. And Joe was gone, too, and I had 
my mind on all Ned and him were saying while 


204 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


we held on together ; and when I got aboard the 
ship, the missionaries and the rest — for all the 
crew of them were the right stripe — well, they 
all laid the matter out to me as how the Lord 
had spared my life and had a claim on the use 
of it ; and I declare, Bessie, it looked reasonable. 
That ’s the long and short of it, Bess. I ’d served 
Tom Turner and the devil for twenty-eight 
years, and it was a bad job ; and now the rest 
of my time, long or short, goes to the Lord ; 
and it ’s a fact, Bessie, I do n’t know how to be 
thankful enough to him for giving me another 
chance.” 

'‘And you think my Joe ’s safe ?” said Mollie . 
breathlessly. 

“Yes, I do,” said Tom solemnly. “ It did n’t 
take the Lord long to save the thief on the 
cross, and we have his word on it that he wont 
cast out any that come to him. Not that I ’d be 
willing to risk another chance if I did n’t take 
the one I got.” 

Now, when the news of Tom’s return spread, 
the minister, among others, came, and he said 
to Bessie, “What do you think of your sinful- 
ness now ? Have you not been upbraiding the 
Lord for this man’s death ? Have you not called 
him hard when he was kind, and doubted a care 
and a government that was all the while being 
exercised for your good? Tell me, has your 


A LONG RAINY DA K 


20 ^ 


conduct been such that you think the Lord can 
have nothing against you now?” 

Thus was Bessie convinced of sin, and when 
she married Tom Turner she was ready in this 
world to walk with him toward the better world. 

Over the widowed Mollie’s life fell a mantle 
of peace. Strength came slowly back to a mind 
that rested on the love and truth of God. She 
kept the light-house, and Bessie lived near by. 
Among Bessie’s strong, joyous children Mollie’s 
boy passed like a pale, unburied infant shade, 
making his plaintive moan as once his mother 
moaned to wind and wave. 

“ It will be all right by and by,” said Mollie 
patiently to her friend, the pastor’s wife. “Joe 
and I looked for a home and comfort along with 
the little one in this world, but you see God has 
only put off our happiness a little while, and 
we ’ll get it some day all together again.” 

In this simple faith Mollie was satisfied. 

“The waters compassed me about, even to 
the soul ; the depth closed me about ; the weeds 
were wrapped about my head. When my soul 
fainted within me I remembered the Lord ; and 
my prayer came unto thee, even into thy holy 
temple.” 

In the deep silence that followed this read- 
ing Madame Baron could hear the short breath- 


2o6 the house on the BLUFF, 

ing of the little lad who always sat close by her 
side : she felt the plump soft hand tremble in 
her clasp. Robert was a tenderly sympathetic 
child, of strong imagination ; at the moment he 
lived in the thing he heard. His heart was 
nearly broken to think of the stormy night, the 
drowning sailors, the little cabin-boy strong in 
his faith, the waiting women, the little father- 
less child. Madame Baron drew him to her 
lap and holding him closely in her arms kissed 
his round dimpled cheek. 

“ Such things happen in this world, my dar- 
ling,” she whispered; “but this life is short, 
and the life beyond is very long ; endlessly long ; 
our God, who orders all, can bring light out of 
darkness, joy out of sorrow.” 

Grandma felt the tears stealing over her little 
boy’s cheeks. “Come, small folks,” she said, ; 
“you have had reading enough for a while.' 
Little hearts cannot bear what older people can. i 
Come, the kitchen is neat and empty, and we • 
will go there and make nut candy and choco- 
late drops and cocoanut balls. Cicely, you and' 
Eunice may come, but no other grown-ups. As' 
for me, I count with the children whenever I 
like. Run to the garret, little boys, for nuts,' 
and you may crack them in the kitchen. Eunice' 
will make ready the candy, and Cicely and I 
will grate cocoanut and chocolate. Every one* 


A LONG RAINY DA Y. 


207 

of you shall have a buttered plate and mould 
his own candy.” 

In the rush to the garret and back, the scram- 
ble after hammers, the choosing of plates, wash- 
ing of hands, great glee took the place of gloom, 
and the big kitchen echoed with shouts of fun 
and queer little jokes. Grandma Baron thought 
the small people had been almost too sorrowful 
that afternoon. She told them that they might 
order the supper themselves, and that after tea 
they should have a game of stage coach, and 
then one story.” 

'' Not a sad story,” stipulated Robert. 

“No,” said his grandmother; “a gay story. 
Eunice, I wish you would read them that story 
of two little twin deaf mutes that you have just 
written.” 

“ Yes, certainly, Madame Baron.” 

“ Did it turn out well ?” demanded Robert. 

“ First rate,” said Eunice emphatically. 

So after the candy was made and divided, 
supper was over, and a jolly game of stage coach 
was played. Miss Eunice read the history of 

TIP AND TRIG. 

When Jonas and Ellen Martin married they 
bought two hundred acres of new land, twenty- 
five miles from the railroad. A log house and 
some barns and stables were built, land cleared. 


2o8 the house on the BLUFF. 

fences made, stock and crops were raised, and, 
as the Bible tells ns the hand of the diligent 
maketh rich, these honest young people pros- 
pered. Jonas could read, and could write a little ; 
Ellen could read, but could not write her name. 

When first they bought their farm there was 
no church service in that region, but the country 
soon filled up and there was preaching once a 
month at a school-house. 

Jonas and Ellen were very happy when a pair 
of twin children, a boy and a girl, came to them. 
They called the boy Tip and the girl Trie. And 
then came slowly darkening upon them a great 
sorrow: neither Tip nor Trie could hear and 
speak. When Jonas and Ellen realized this it 
seemed as if their hearts would break. They 
did not know that there are schools for deaf 
mutes and that they can be taught ; it seemed 
to them that these children were forever shut 
out from happiness and usefulness, and con- 
demned to the life of little brutes. 

These parents were themselves so little edu- 
cated that they could think of no way to enter 
into communication with their deaf children. 
They loved them, fondled them, fed and clothed 
them, and let them run and play like the colts 
and the calves. A few signs, of beckoning or 
warning or reproof, they managed to make, and 
that was all. No other children came, and Jonas 


A LONG RAINY DA Y. 


2og 


and Ellen looked at Tip and Trie and felt very 
miserable. 

Everything prospered but this affair of the 
children ; the house was enlarged, and when the 
twins were seven years old crops were so good 
that Jonas and Ellen set a day to go in the big 
wagon to the town at the railroad and buy a 
stove, a table, a rocking-chair and perhaps even 
a bureau ! Tip and Trie were to go : they had 
never been away from the farm before. Ellen 
had been out once to the town, and Jonas went 
only once each year. This was a great outing. 

While they were buying the stove the hard- 
ware dealer asked, “ Are those children mutes ? 
You must send them to the great State school 
for mutes, fifty miles from here.” 

“A school? I didn’t know dummies could 
learn anything!” cried Jonas. 

“ Of course they can. They teach them to 
read and write and draw, and to do all kinds of 
work — tailoring, printing, shoemaking. They 
learn as well as any one.” 

At the furniture store the dealer was much 
interested in the twins. “ Mutes ? Oh, you 
must send them to the Institution.” 

“ We never heard of it till to-day,” said Ellen, 
“ Would they be good to the poor little things ? 
Could they really learn ?” 

Good ! Learn ! I should say so 1” The 

H 


210 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


dealer held up his arm, making queer signs, and 
a young man in a blue suit came up. 

“ Here is my brother-in-law ; he is a mute. 
He has just graduated at the Institution. Do 
you see those clothes and shoes ? The pupils ' 
made those. Do you see those two suits of fur- 
niture ? They were made at the Institution. 
Tom, here, learned cabinet work', and he is now 
working with me. He is a good hand. You 
shall go back in the shop and see some of his 
work.” 

Then he made more queer signs and Tom 
took out a tablet and v/rote rapidly upon it: 

Be sure and send your children to the school. 
They will learn all that other people do.” 

“ Why,” said Jonas, “ I never could write as « 
handsome as that !” 

Then the dealer looked Tom in the face and 
said, “ These people want to know .if the teachers 
will be good to their children.” < 

Jonas and Ellen were amazed to hear Tom ( 
speak out clearly : “Yes, they will be very good 
indeed.” ^ 

“ Do they teach them to speak ? Can he say 
‘ mother ?” cried poor Ellen. J 

“ I can say ‘ mother,’ ” said Tom. 3 

“ I ’ll send Tip and Trie if I have to sell the 1 
farm to do it !” cried Jonas. i 

“ It will cost very little,” said the dealer ; J 


A LONG RAINY DA Y. 


2II 


and he addressed an envelope to the superin- 
tendent of the school, stamped it, and put in it 
a sheet of paper. “Now you must write to that 
man all about your children, and he will tell you 
what to do.” 

This was the way it came to pass that the 
next summer, when the twins were eight years 
old, they were taken to the station and handed 
over to a teacher who was gathering up the 
mutes to take them to school. They found them- 
selves at evening at a large, handsome building, 
standing in beautiful grounds. There were seats 
under the trees, and swings, and places for play- 
ing games, and there were hundreds of children 
nicely dressed in uniforms of blue and gray. 
Tip and Trie had never seen folks in such nice 
clothes except on that one day when they went 
to town. 

They were washed, and dressed like the rest, 
and taken to supper. There were long tables 
covered with white cloths, and each child had a 
white napkin and ^big glass tumbler. Tip and 
Trie had never seen such splendor before. At 
each table some one arose, looked upwards, and 
made some signs, while each watched the signs 
and at the end bowed its head. 

At bed-time a matron took Trie to a long 
ward, full of little beds, where twenty little girls 
were put each into a white gown. Then all the 


212 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


twenty knelt down and the matron, with lifted 
eyes, made some signs. The children who had 
been there before repeated these signs. After 
this each child was tucked into bed. 

Two hours after. Trie woke up and saw the 
matron, in a long gown, with a lamp in her hand, 
come from her room at the end of the ward and 
take a look at the child in each little bed. Tip 
had similar experiences. 

Between the children and the teachers Tip 
and Trie learned very fast. All mutes show 
great aptitude for writing. Soon Tip and Trie 
could write many words. They were a bright 
little pair, and before long could make their 
playmates understand them in the sign-lan- 
guage, and could understand their mates. They 
learned that there is a God, and that the signs 
before meals were to thank him for their food, 
and the bed-time signs were a prayer for his 
care over them during the night. By degrees 
they learned much more about God, and about 
right and wrong. So went by a happy year, 
and Tip and Trie went home for vacation. 

When they reached home all was so very dif- 
ferent from the school ! Tip and Trie wanted 
to bring in school ways. Trie was bound to set 
the table with a cloth, and as she could not find 
a cloth she took a sheet. She put on the table 
her mother’s four cherished tumblers, which 


A LONG RAINY DA Y. 


213 


had ornamented the best -room shelf, and in 
place of napkins she found her mother’s few 
treasured handkerchiefs. Then about the bless- 
ing. What, no blessing! Well, Tip managed 
that. At bed-time the twins made their parents 
kneel down, and they made their sign-prayer. 

“Jonas,” said Ellen with tears, “I do be- 
lieve they ’re going through the Lord’s Prayer 
my mother taught me long ago. Oh, Jonas, 
what heathens we be ! The blessed childen are 
teaching us, and we never taught them more 
than if they were little dogs or calves.” 

Soon Tip and Trie became very homesick for 
their playmates and their lessons. At home no 
one could communicate with them, or teach 
them, and their hungry little minds longed for 
school. No one could tell them how far it was 
to the railroad, or that steam cars did not run 
abroad over the country roads, or how long it 
would be before they would go back to school. 
After a week of longing, they ran each day to 
climb two tall gate-posts and there they sat, 
perched like little images, looking with eager 
eyes for the cars to come and take them to their 
dear school I When the cars did not appear the 
children cried, and poor Ellen sat down and 
cried too. She bought table-cloths and napkins, 
and pink dishes and new spoons and white cur- 
tains, and still the children pined for school. 


214 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

One Saturday the preacher came to stay over 
Sunday and preach at the school-house. Hap- 
pily he understood the sign-language, as he had 
once taught in a school for mutes. He ex- 
plained to the twins all about vacation, and 
when they could be taken back to school. 

Then next day at the preaching they found 
slates and pencils at the school-house and the 
school-teacher loaned them each one. Then 
they were happy. They wrote “father” and 
“ mother *’ on the slates, and “ God loves me,” 
and “ I love God.” At this wonderful exhibi- 
tion Jonas and Ellen were so overjoyed that 
they cried, and said, “ These dear little ones will 
soon be like other folks. They will know as 
much as the preacher!” 

When school began Ellen acompanied the 
children and remained a week, trying to learn 
something of the sign-language, and the teacher 
gave her a little book about it. 

That winter Ellen boarded the school-teacher 
and she and Jonas studied every night to keep 
up with their mute children ! Each year Ellen 
visited her twins at school, and the home far up 
in the country received the benefit of all she 
saw and heard. 

At the end of ten years Jonas and Ellen saw 
their mute children graduate. Tip was now as 
fine and sensible a lad as the Tom who had so 


A LONG RAINY DA Y. 


215 


much surprised his parents, and Trie was a very 
pretty-mannered young woman and was an ex- 
cellent dress-maker, who could get from her 
neighbors all the work she could do. It was 
a very comfortable, happy, Christian home they 
came to. Jonas did not need now to be told 
to ask a blessing or have family prayers; the 
parents and home had been made over by 
means of a pair of deaf mutes and what Chris- 
tian philanthropy had done for them. 

“ Well, I call that a nice story,” said Robert. 
“Grandma, I wish you would take me to see 
a school for deaf and dumb. I wonder if I could 
understand their signs ! Ben ! Alec ! let us try 
to tell each other something all by signs.” There 
was a vigorous signing and some wild guessing. 
Then Mr. Vance said he could teach them the 
alphabet for mutes on the fingers. This and a 
few signs being practised, when the youngsters 
were sent to bed there was much darting into 
halls, arms thrust into rooms through small 
cracks in the charily-opened doors, and frantic 
signs were made, by waving hands, accompanied 
by shouts of “ Guess what this means!” 


2i6 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 


CHAPTER IX. 

WHEN SUN CAME AFTER STORM. 

“ These evils I deserve ; 

And yet I trust his pardon to receive 
Whose ear is ever open, and his eye 
Gracious to re-admit the suppliant.” 

“Letters at last!” cried Mrs. Lyman on 
Thursday, when Mr. Danforth came back from 
his morning ride to Tipton. “ And, dear Ma- 
dame Baron, here at the very top of the pile of 
documents is a letter from that blessed Char- 
lotte G in whose story you took so much 

interest.” 

“ I am glad indeed,” said Madame. “ I felt 
uncommonly drawn to that girl by your descrip- 
tion of her. I have really lain awake at night 
thinking what I could do for her. Such a draw- 
ing always seems to me an indication that I 
have an errand to do for God. What it is in 
this instance I cannot clearly see.” 

“ Perhaps this letter will make matters clearer 
to you,” said Mrs. Lyman as she cut open the 
envelope. 

“ Poor Charlotte !” she said ; “ sorrow still 
follows her : her mother is dead and the home 


WHEN SUN CAME AFTER STORM. 217 

is broken up. The sister who was engaged to 
the correspondence clerk married, it seems, a 

month before Mrs. G died; her clerk was 

offered a good position, and they married and 
went to Australia : the family gathered what they 
could for the bride’s outfitting and for a ticket 
for the dressmaker, who could do so much bet- 
ter in Australia. ' It was such a good opening 
for her,’ poor Charlotte writes. The sister who 
managed the baker’s shop is also married. Fair 
times came back again to her clerk : ‘ Such a 
big salary,’ poor Charlotte writes. ‘ Ten pounds 
a month ; only think of it ! And they have 
asked father to live with them.’ Ten pounds — 
only fifty dollars — and they consider themselves 
particularly well off ! The ! sister who was in 
the cake shop has such a good place to wait 
upon an invalid lady in the country.’ Charlotte 
says ' she will be able to lay up money by and 
by, as she gets three pounds ten and her keep.’ 
Just now she cannot lay up anything, for she 
assumed all the funeral expenses of the dear 
' mother and has that to work out first. ‘ It was 
. so good of her,’ Charlotte says. Charlotte does 
not know what she will do. She fears she must 
go out to service if she can find a place. The 
positions her sisters left are not open to her; 
Charlotte was so frightened when she went to 
ask for the place at the baker’s that she stut- 


2i8 the house on the BLUFF, 

tered, and the baker would have nothing to 
do with her. Charlotte is ashamed of herself 
for being so silly, but she cannot help it ; she 
has tried so hard ! She hopes I will not think 
she is too proud to do any kind of work ; but it 
will be so lonesome to be a maid of all work, 
and she is somewhat worn out with nursing her 
mother and fears she will break down with so 
many coals to carry. She will be very glad to 
get a place, but is first to stay six weeks with 
her sister, mending all the father’s clothes and 
helping the sister to get settled. Then she 
must set out for herself, and means to be brave 
about it and hopes she wont stutter.” 

“ Now,” said Madame Baron, I can see just 
what to do for Charlotte. I have been wishing 
for some nice, reliable, companionable young 
girl to stay here with me when Eunice is away 
on visits, and to be with Eunice when I am 
gone. My home is plenty large enough for one 
more, and I really need that one more. If you 
will at once write to Charlotte all about it and 
offer her the place I will inclose thirty pounds 
for her outfit and ticket, and she may come as 
soon as she likes.” 

“ That has a beautiful sound,” said Mrs. Ly- 
man, “ and makes me heart-glad for Charlotte. 
But suppose you do not like Charlotte as well as 
I do ; suppose you are disappointed in her !” 


IVHEN SUN CAME AFTER STORM. 2ig 

“ I feel sure that I shall not be ; but suppose 
I am : it will be a mistake easy to remedy. We 
can probably find Charlotte exactly what would 
suit her, and thirty pounds will be no great loss. 
I fancy the girl herself would be satisfied to 
come.” 

'‘She would be more than delighted. In 
fact I feel as if this is all truly providential ; one 
of the Father’s ways of providing for a child. 
If you really wish to try this, Madame Baron, I 
will write to-day and mail the letter to-morrow.” 

“Do so, by all means. This Charlotte and 
that good Sardinia Bowker have been on my 
' mind since I heard their stories. If I only could 

I do something for Sardinia I should feel well sat- 
isfied ; but her case seems harder to reach than 
Charlotte G ’s.” 

Keziah had come into the room to arrange a 
closet, and now, turning her head from the shelf 
' she was putting in order, she said, with a laugh, 
i “ May be Sardinia will come into good fortune 
I by herself, Madame Baron.” 

1 “ How ? What do you mean, Keziah ?” 

I “ Keziah knows something amusing,” said 

Mrs. Lyman. 

“Well, it is rather funny,” said Keziah. 
“ You know that Mr. Slocum who was here the 
evening when the story about Sardinia was 
read. You know I said he had bought that 


220 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


farm out by Doe Creek and was going to build 
on it. He was mightily struck with that story 
about Sardinia. He said she was the right kind 
of a girl, and he talked about her all the rest 
of the evening as we sat by the kitchen fire. 
Tuesday night, you remember, it began to rain 
heavy. Well, he was on his way with his sec- 
ond load of lumber, not so far from Bowker’s 
lane, when the rain began. He could have' got 
home if he had tried, but he turned in and 
asked Mr. Bowker to take him in for the night. 
Bowker’s folks always have plenty, and are as 
friendly as friendly, so they made him welcome. 
Next day, yesterday, you know, it rained hard, 
and he just stayed right on, visiting. Ezra was 
up at four this morning and rode over to Bow- 
kers’ for some seeds he was wanting, and Mr. 
Slocum and his lumber was just getting out of 
the lane gate when Ezra turned in there, and 
he ’lowed to Ezra that Sardinia was the right 
kind of a girl ; mighty nice in the house and 
more ’n good to the children and her mother ; 
and he said if Sardinia did n’t have a nice new 
house and all the pigs and all the cows and all 
the chickens, and everything ship-shape the way 
she ’d like it, it would be because she would n’t 
take ’em when offered to her, as they would be 
when his building was done. And he said no- 
body would darst to sell Sardinia’s things for 


WHEN SUN CAME AFTER STORM. 221 


anybody’s debts after that. Mr. Slocum is a 
very stirrin’ man, and very forehanded, and as 
kind as they make ’em. He ’s a good man, too, 
a church member, and liberal. I would not be 
surprised, ma’am, if by this time next year Sar- 
dinia would have affairs just about as she likes 
’em, and poor Mis’ Bowker will feel real settled 
in her mind about her.” 

“ Why, Keziah, you have come into the list 
of our story-tellers ; but there are only two of us 
to hear you,” said Mrs. Lyman laughing. 

“ I would n’t have told it if there ’d been 
more,” said Keziah ; “and I don’t want you to 
tell it either, for it does sound real comical— on 
such short notice !” 

“ We ’ll be sure and not say a word of it,” 
said Mrs. Lyman. “ It would not be fair to Sar- 
dinia, who evidently knows nothing of these fine 
plans for her future.” 

That evening, when the family came to- 
gether, Mr. Tracy said he wished to relate to 
them the story of 

A MODERN ST. CHRISTOPHER. 

To lose fortune when all the world seems 
to be going prosperously — this is hard. To lose 
home when home is dear— this is hard. To 
lose friends when the heart is warm and friend- 
ly— this is hard. To lose reputation— “ I have 


222 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


lost the immortal part, sir, of myself, and what 
remains is bestial ” — this is passing hard. But 
to lose faith, to find the soul suddenly stripped 
of its trust, its hopes, to find the present or- 
phaned of God’s fatherhood, the future desolated 
of the eternal life — this is the loss hardest of 
all. 

“ We sit unowned upon our burial sod, 

And know not whence we come, nor whose we be ; 

Comfortless mourners for the Mount of God, 

The rocks of Calvary.” 

There was a man, Harvey Ogden by name, 
who had experienced all these losses, even to 
that culminating loss of all. That last came 
suddenly upon him one lowering November 
day when a dull mist driven by raw winds was 
rolling in from the sea over the sodden land ; 
the sun seemed to have forgotten the world, 
and Heaven to have forgotten him. 

He stood in a dreary landscape where wet 
poplars lined the muddy roads, where the har- 
vests had all been gathered, and the small houses, 
scattered here and there, proclaimed the pover- 
ty of the soil. 

Could this landscape ever have been sun- 
kissed and beautiful? He straightened him- 
self from tightening his saddle-girth and looked 
abroad. Had he ever found this lovely the 
year round? Yes ; but then he was young, and 


WHEN SUN CAME AFTER STORM. 223 

heart and life had been full of benediction. Now, 
here, where he was born, his heart had died 
within him ; his heart, his soul, had perished. 
Heart ? Soul ? Had he, in any high sense, 
ever possessed either ? Had not his heart been 
simply a contracting and expanding muscle? 
His soul, was it not mere animal breath ; his 
own status, was it not merely a little higher, 
but less stolidly enduring, than that of this 
dripping ox, waiting patiently, chewing its cud, 
in a corner of a rail fence ? 

All his losses had come upon him as the 
work of one man who, out of jealous envy, had 
falsely accused him of evil ; had driven him 
from a good position, from home, from happi- 
ness. How he had hated his adversary ! How 
he had impotently longed to wreak vengeance 
upon him! But at last, in the land of the 
stranger, years had brought him friends, honor, 
wealth ; and, finally he had heard the wooing 
voice of the Nazarene, “ Arise, and follow me,” 
and he had answered, “ My Lord and my God !” 

He had made it the test of his new life, of his 
faith and hope, that he could forgive his enemy. 
He found that his heart had grown calm and 
forbearing at thought of him: he no longer 
craved to tear him in pieces, to wreak upon 
him tenfold the measure which he had received. 

When he realized this change in himself he 


224 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


believed the new life well begun, and he re- 
joiced in the Lord greatly. The old Adam was 
dead ! Christ reigned ! He walked in fellow- 
ship with the Supreme. How happy he was 
for a while ! Then he began to have doubts of 
himself. Was the change really so great as he 
had believed? Was he not self-deceived? He 
would put himself to a crucial test. He would 
go back to the place where he had suffered. 
He would face the enemy who had triumphed. 
He would feel the blessed calm of self-conquest, 
and know that he was forgiven of God by this 
sign — that he himself had forgiven his enemy. 
In the goldeh Indian summer he began the 
pilgrimage which was to prove to him his ac- 
ceptance with God. 

As he moved toward the scenes of his early 
days a cold change came upon him. The path, 
once traced in pain and burning rage, brought 
back, as retraced, burning rage and pain. The 
summer died from out the landscape, the winter 
of the world and the winter of doubt had come ; 
his life had the nakedness of Arctic snowfields. 

Finally he left the railroad, and on horseback 
traveled slowly toward the old home. Then the 
tempest of passion broke upon him, surged over 
him, wrecked his soul, and cast him, beaten, 
baffled, and bereft, upon the cold shores of doubt 
— and from doubt he reached despair. 


WHEN SUN CAME AFTER STORM. 


22 ^ 


Hate and revenge were rampant still ! Then, 
evidently, he had deceived himself and was him- 
self unforgiven. All that peace, that holy rap- 
ture, then ? Myth, sentiment, lost imaginations, 
lingering superstitions of childhood. “Ven- 
geance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord.” Had 
He repaid? No. Then the promise and the 
Promiser were alike figments of some fair fancy. 
Perfect love, forgiveness of enemies, doing good 
to persecutors, praying for those who hate : no, 
no, it was all impossible, all a dream ; there was 
no such new life of the Crucified within him. 

He drove his spurs into his lagging horse ; 
he now desired but one thing : to reach the bank, 
whence, to hide his own sin, Andrew Mitchell 
had driven him, and there to smite the lie and 
the life out of Andrew Mitchell, the smug 
cashier. 

Had he a knife ? Surely he had. Oh, he 
would use it with all his strength. What a 
craven he had been to let vengeance sleep so 
long ! Now all was lost to him but that one last 
wild joy. God and the future life were lost, and 
the present life had in it no good to be counted 
beside revenge. On, then, on ! 

He almost stumbled over a woman running, 
crying, up the road, from a little wagon-camp 
standing beside a smouldering fire at a turn of 
the roadway. 

15 


226 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

“ Stop, sir ! I hope you be a doctor, for here’s 
a man as is dyin’ !” 

“ No ; I am not a doctor. What has hap- 
pened ?” 

“ Something burst in his breast, and he bleeds 
awful. Stop, sir, will you ? Whether you know 
doctorin’ or not, sir, stop, for I’m alone except 
for the bit children, an’ my man a poor cripple. 
This stranger will die on our hands, an’ we ’re 
that hopeless poor !” 

Harvey Ogden dismounted and bent low to 
enter the miserable little tent. On a pile of 
ragged bedding lay a man, emaciated, shaggy of 
hair and beard, in a swoon, possibly. Near to 
death he looked, while the red stream was yet 
dripping over his lips. 

“ Dying of hemorrhage of the lungs.” Har- 
vey Ogden gave the verdict with the assurance 
of a medical practitioner. 

Oh, sir,” pleaded the woman, “ can ’t he be 
got away from here ? Yon is all the bed we 
have, an’ this is all the shelter for five, an’ he is 
nothing to us. We were just giving him an’ 
his child” — she pointed to a little creature asleep 
near the sick man — ” a lift for fifty cents to the 
town below, an’ here we had to stop, along of 
the way he was took.” 

Unbeliever in everything, and full of uni- 
versal hate as Harvey Ogden had recently be- 


WHEN SUN CAME AFTER STORM. 


22 ’/ 


come, he could not let this fellow-creature lie in 
so terrible a strait. He ran down the road to a 
small house. A tidy woman in widow’s dress 
opened the door. Ogden hastily explained the 
situation. 

“If you will let me have a room and a bed I 
will pay for it and will send for a doctor, and 
will stay by the poor creature until, in a day or 
two, we can move him. Here — there’s earnest. 
Will you get a place ready ?” 

The woman hesitatingly took the five dollars. 
“Tisn’t Christian to let a man die yonder in the 
: rain,’’ she said looking down the road. 

' Ogden hastened back, folded a quilt into a 

I stretcher, laid the man on it, covered him, and 
I seeing that the tramp-woman was strong bade 
j her carry the pallet at the feet while he bore the 

I head. The crippled man followed, bringing the 
child. 

“Where did you pick him up? Do you 
know his name ?’’ 

“Not a thing about him,” protested the wo- 
man ; “ he had no luggage but a little packet of 
food for the child. We took him up ten miles 
east of this.” 

For a while Ogden, the widow and her son 
were busy checking the flow of blood and making 
the patient easy in a clean bed and clean clothes. 
Then the son went for a doctor, and the widow 


228 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

washed and curled the child, dressed him in 
some improvised garments, fed him, and rocked 
him to sleep, singing to him a hymn. 

“ There is no hope,” said the doctor ; “ he 
wont last six hours.” 

The apparently unconscious man had heard. 
He opened his eyes slowly and said : “ Take my 
boy to my aunt, Jane Thurlow.” 

Then Harvey Ogden knew him, knew him 
by his eyes. His enemy, Andrew Mitchell! 
And with the light of recognition rushing into 
his face Andrew Mitchell knew him also. 

“ You !” he gasped. 

“Yes, I am here. Andrew, listen! You 
are dying ; say the truth before these two wit- 
nesses. It was not I that took the bank’s funds. 
Speak !” 

Then, with one great effort, Andrew Mitch- 
ell raised himself on his elbow, stretched out a 
long bony finger, and spoke. 

“ Curse you, Harvey Ogden ! I never had an 
hour of luck since I saw the last of you ! Every- 
body dogged me about you. Clear you now? 
No, I wont clear you ! Curse you !” 

As he fell back the red blood swelled once 
more past his lips— and ceased — and he was 
dead. 

“ I ’ll make out a burial certificate,” said the 


WHEN SUN CAME AFTER STORM. 229 

doctor, who was new to these parts and to whom 
this scene told but little. 

“Who was he?” asked the widow, looking 
askance at the corpse. “ What did he say about 
the child ?” 

“ He said to take him to Miss Jane Thurlow. 
The man’s name was Andrew Mitchell.” The 
name burnt Harvey Ogden’s lips like fire. He 
realized that he hated his relentless enemy dead 
more than he had hated him while he was yet 
alive. 

“ Andrew Mitchell, was he ?” said the widow 
curiously. “ Used to be a bank cashier here- 
abouts, long ago — ten years ago ; defaulted, and 
ran off. Going to his aunt, Jane Thurlow, was 
he ? He would n’t have found her. Died two 
years ago, and left all her money to a church 
home. You ’ll help me out of this, wont you ? 
You brought him here. We can bury him to- 
morrow in the old farm burying-ground, back of 
our orchard, but we ’re too poor to take ex- 
pense.” 

Certainly it was not right to burden the 
widow. Caught in the toils of fate, Harvey 
Ogden set forth in the storm to buy his enemy’s 
coffin, and when it was brought through the 
cold rain, the cover splashed with the mud of the 
roads, he aided the widow’s son in making this 
that had been his destroyer ready for burial. 


230 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


Did he forgive him then ? No. A curse and 
a reiterated injury — these had been Andrew 
Mitchell’s last bequest. 

Noon. The rain had ceased falling, and a 
yellow light struggled through the vapors. The 
grave had been filled in and roughly smoothed 
over. 

Harvey Ogden asked for his horse. It was 
time to move on — objectless. The sleuth-hounds 
of revenge could not pursue a trail that ended 
in a grave. Revenge had lost its quarry, but 
hate lived on. He had buried his enemy — but 
he hated him still. As for God, God was farther 
from him than ever ; so far off now that he had 
lost Him in cold distance, and no longer ac- 
counted that He was ! 

“How about the child?” asked the widow. 
“ I can’t keep him ; you brought him here, you 
should take him away.” 

“Where? Poor little creature!” faltered 
Ogden. 

“ To the county house, I reckon. Poor creature 
surely ! He is a sweet child, but I can’t do for 
him. We are deep in debt. You’ll pass the 
poorhouse on your road to town ; five miles from 
here it is. You ’ll see it.” 

See it ? Of course he would. He had known 
it from his childhood, and as a child, riding by, 


WHEN SUN CAME AFTER STORM, 


2JI 

had looked with childish pity and curiosity at 
the miserable inmates — unloved infancy, un- 
honored age. 

The widow lifted up the child to the arms of 
Harvey Ogden, seated on his horse. There was 
nothing to do but receive him into his bosom 
and ride away slowly because of the mud. 

The child nestled against Ogden, clutched 
his beard fast for security, and then slept, and 
grew rosy, and dimpled, and cherubic in sleep. 
Then a voice spoke in Harvey Ogden’s ear : 
“ Whoso receiveth one such little child in my 
name receiveth me.” 

Now you can not doubt the identity of one 
who in a known voice speaks to you clearly. 
Harvey Ogden knew this voice. It was his 
Lord’s. Then the man thought of another Child 
— an infant, sweet and guileless, in whose eyes 
mingled human childhood and eternal mysteries : 
a child sitting upon a woman’s lap in a town 
called Bethlehem ; a child who had consecrated 
childhood. And now how heavy grew this 
sleeping child in Harvey Ogden’s arms! He 
weighed like lead ; he bore him down. Oh, 
mighty load ! for He who bore the world on his 
heart had put himself, in this little one’s place, 
and the man bent and was crushed under the 
immense burden. 

This child put in a poorhouse, to live unwel- 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 


232 

corned and unloved and untended all its baby 
days ? Not so ; that would be the Christ outcast 
in him. This child to live, one by one, those 
thirty-three years lived once by the Son of man, 
and in them to be delivered over to loneliness, 
ignorance, sin? Then, in him thus the Christ 
betrayed. In sleep the child held Harvey fast, 
and still smiled on. But Harvey now saw only 
a thorn-crowned head, a “ Man with eyes majestic 
after death.”. . . There was a monotone deep 
down in his heart, repeating : for me — for 
me.”. . . His heart was broken, and, breaking, 
strangely its life was renewed. His arms clasp- 
ing the babe were paralyzed ; a Nineteenth Cen- 
tury St. Christopher, he was carrying the Christ. 

“ If thine enemy hunger — feed him ; if he 
thirst give him drink” — said the voice of the 
Nazarene. This he had done. 

Sick, and ye visited me, naked, and ye cloth- 
ed me ; a stranger, and ye took me in. Ye did 
it unto me. Come, ye blessed of my Father, in- 
herit the kingdom.” 

What! There was no question now! Was 
this sun and summer shine breaking over the 
world? Harvey Ogden had again found his 
God, never more to lose Him ; for now He had 
entered into some subtle, masterful, absorbing 
relationship to his soul. Doubts? They had 
vanished like the last folds of the mist, for God 


WHEN SUN CAME AFTER STORM. 233 

was over him, directing all ; and in him, accept- 
ing all ; and in his arms, in the person of his 
enemy’s child, he carried — Christ. 

He clearly saw it now : his trusting to self, 
resting on his own forgiving for forgiveness ; his 
trying to be unto himself his own saviour. All 
his fabric of self-confidence had crumbled into 
dust and left him shelterless and prone. Then 
One divine had lifted him up, and had shown 
him how the new life had been still working in 
him, and now offered to receive as to Himself all 
that was done for the little child. 

The juniors of the company had listened 
very quietly to this story, but it contained 
thoughts deeper than could fit their small ex- 
periences. It was too much of a grown people’s 
story ” for them. Their eyes, however, bright- 
ened when Mrs. Ainslie said, after some discus- 
sion of Mr. Tracy’s story, and further remarks 
about human capacity for self-deception, “ That 
was a man’s story, about a man’s heart and a 
man’s troubles. I have thought of a boy’s story, 
of a boy’s troubles, and a boy’s helpfulness. It 
is another of my Scotch stories, such as Robert 
likes.” 

** Which we all like,” cried Eunice. 

‘‘ Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Lyman, we should 
be glad if you told us one every day.” 


234 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


Alec,” said Robert, leaning forward, “ here ’s 
something you will enjoy first rate.” 

“ Aye,” said Alec, “ but I like them all. I 
ne’er heard ony sic stories before, and I didna 
ken there were ony in the warl’ but Bible sto- 
ries. I ’ve aye been main fond o’ them.” 

If you stay with Mrs. Ainslie you ’ll hear sto- 
ries, boy ! She ’s just full of them,” said Robert, 
settling himself back in his chair and fixing 
his eager expectant eyes on his old friend’s 
face. “ What is the name of your story. Aunt 
Ainslie ?” 

My story happened fifteen years or more 
ago, out in Kansas, and I will call it 

“ HIS mither’s laddie.” 

A wide, wide reach of prairie. The great, 
round, yellow July moon rising slowly above 
the horizon. 

Two sod houses — one evidently unoccupied. 
Near the other stood a cow, and close to the 
black opening which represented a door lay a 
dog, his nose in his paws. 

Up out of the black opening came a woman. 
She did not look at the rising moon, at the still 
brilliant sky, nor at the breeze-kissed expanse 
of grass and fiowers. She saw nothing but the 
drawn face of the baby she held in her arms. 

She laid the baby in the old shawl on the 


WHEN SUN CAME AFTER STORM. 2js 

ground and sat on a box staring at it. Her 
elbows were on her knees, her face on her hands. 
Such a worn, utterly hopeless face ! Her eyes 
had the hunted look of one beaten from every 
refuge— of one who had lost, and lost, and lost. 

A year before, when wagons were starting 
westward every day, she and her husband, with 
a wagon and two lean horses and the few things 
they owned, had started with the rest. They 
had wandered around, and early in the spring 
they had stopped at this place with another 
wagon of movers. They had built their sod 
huts, the baby had been born, and a week ago 
the other family had moved on. Three days 
before the baby had sickened ; the same scorch- 
ing fever that had burned out the lives of her 
two other babies had seized upon this one. Her 
husband had taken their one horse, for he had 
traded the other for a cow, and had ridden away 
; fifty miles to the nearest settlement, where 
, rumor had it there was an herb doctor; but 
1 it was the night of the second day and he had 
; not returned. She could not endure to hold 
j this baby while it died, as she had held the oth- 

I ers. The blackest darkness was around her — 
such darkness as the mind on the verge of in- 
sanity can see and feel and hear. 

There was the sound of something moving 
inside the dug-out and a boy emerged from the 


2j6 the house on the BLUFF. 

blackness into the clear mellow moonlight — an 
emaciated, ague-weakened boy of about twelve ; 
something about him looked Scotch — his sandy 
hair and blue eyes and ruggedness of facial out- 
line. He was trembling with weakness, for it 
was almost the first time he had crawled out 
since the other movers had gone. He had been 
with them and they had left him behind in his 
illness. He knelt down by the baby. 

“S’all the bairnie leeve?” His voice was 
very sweet, and the tenderness of it forced itself 
on the woman’s actention. 

“No,” she said in a dry tone, as though she 
spoke with the greatest effort. 

“ Hae you prayed to the gude God ?” 

“No.” 

' Why dinna you pray for the bairnie’s life?” 

“ I don’t know how.” 

“ Folks is fearfu’ ignorant in this Ian’ ! S’all 
I pray the Lord to spare the bairnie ?” 

“ It ’s no use. It ’s dyin’.” 

“ S’all I pray, I say ? The Lord has power 
over death itsel’.” The voice was insistent. 

“ Yes,” was the forced answer. 

He knelt down beside the baby, the moon- 
light full on him, the warm breeze stirring his 
hair. 

“ Our Father in heaven,” the trembling voice 
prayed earnestly, “we ask you to luik at the 


WHEN SUN CAME AFTER STORM, 237 

bit bairnie here an’ no tak’ it awa’ to yoursel’ ; 
for the mither is grievin’ sair — and she doesna 
ken aboot your mighty love, nor hoo you can 
save a’. Dinna let her greet mair. I canna thole 
it. For your ain Son’s sake. Amen.” 

“ I ken the prayer o’ twa is better — pray 
yoursel’,” he urged. 

And strongly moved she cried out: “Oh, 
God, my baby — my baby !” 

“ That ’s nae so gude a prayer as mine,” hesi- 
tated the boy, “ but I ken the Lord will hear you 
sooner sin’ it ’s your bairn.” 

He felt the baby’s hand and head — he put 
his ear to its breast, he felt its feet. 

“ I maun say,” the sweet voice went on re- 
gretfully, “ I haena sae mickle faith as I should, 
an’ faith I ’m tellt is aye necessary ; but we maun 
mak’ up for my lack o’ faith by doin’. I ken 
what to do to mak’ the bairnie leeve.” He spoke 
confidently, and the woman started and knelt 
down passionately by the baby. “You s’all 
I baud it— for it ’s no deein’ the noo, I ’m sure— 

I an’ I ’ll pray the gude God to gie me strength 
i till I mak’ the fire and heat some water.” • 

i He lighted the fire in the primitive con- 
1 trivance beside the dug-out and put on some 
) water, then brought a tin dish and rags out of 
the house. 

“ I ken a’ there is aboot fevers,” he said con- 


238 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

fidently. “ I was sick of a fever in a hospital 
an’ I ken hoo they treat it. They sponged me, 
an’ aye they wrappit me in wet things, an’ aye 
they happit me in dry things, an’ they aye pit 
bit powders an’ wee draps o’ drink in my mou’, 
an’ I got well fine. I ’ll sit doon by the fire an’ 
you lay the bairnie in my lap on the plaidie, an’ 
then do you dip the raggies in the warm water 
and sponge awa’. Sponge its head an’ face, an’ 
a’ its body, an’ its back mair, while I keep hap- 
ping’ it wi’ the plaidie. An’ do you pit hot 
things till its feet, an’ sin’ you haena powders 
we ’ll pit a bit drappie hot water in its mou’ — 
so — you sponge brawly ! I ken its whole skin 
is parched. Why— its head feels better a’ready ! 
I wis’ ye wad luik — it ’s bit eyes closin’ — na, na, 
dinna be a coof ! — it ’s no deein’ — it ’s shuttin’ 
its eyes natural ; didna I tell you its mou’s mair 
easy ?” 

The woman bathed the little scrawny body 
with trembling eagerness, the boy wrapping it 
well in the shawl as she proceeded. 

“ Quick noo — milk Sukey a few draps, an’ 
iwe ’ll pit a big drap hot water intil it.” And 
when the decoction was gently inserted into 
the baby’s mouth with a spoon the little thing 
swallowed and took four spoonfuls, and then 
restfully turned its little head and slept a quiet, 
natural sleep. 


WHEN SUN CAME AFTER STORM. 2sg 

“ Noo dinna you see the power o’ the gude 
God ?” said the boy triumphantly, in a low tone, 
as he lay on the ground resting his throbbing 
head on the dog, while the mother sat on the 
box holding the quietly-sleeping baby. The 
blackness of darkness had passed away from 
her. Her heart beat high with thankfulness 
and love. Never had the like of this happened 
to her before ; she was as sure now that her 
baby would live as she had been that it would 
die. 

“We hae askit for the bairnie’s life and hae 
receivit— an’ noo we maun return thanks. S’all 
I?” 

“ Yes.” 

The boy knelt again. “ Our Father in heaven, 
we return thanks. The bairnie’s doin’ fine, an’ 
the mither doesna greet, an’ we’re mair than 
thankfu’. Amen.” 

“ Gin I was your age,” the sweet voice went 
on gently after a pause, “ I wadna be content no 
to pray. Hoo can you expect onything gin ye 
winna ask for it?” 

“ Who taught you ?” 

“ My mither. Hoo can you teach your bairn 
gin you dinna ken yoursel’P Dinna you desire 
your bairn to ken his Maker, and the Word, and 
the catechism ?” 

“ I ’ll learn from you.” 


240 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 


Aye,” with satisfaction ; “ then you can teach 
the bairn. Hae you had ither bairns?” 

. “Two.” 

“ Deid ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Didna they ken their prayers ?” 

“ They died babies.” 

“ I ken the gude God took the bit things 
whaur they could be well and happy, an’ wadna 
leave them to be no taught their prayers an’ 
no to respec’ his name. Gin you teach this 
bairn gude ways I dootna you ’ll keep him.” 

The boy spoke with absolute confidence ; the 
woman’s face changed marvellously ; she leaned 
forward eagerly. 

“ Are my babies happy ?” 

“ Aye, aye.” The sweet voice was decisive 
but low. “ I had a brither and a sister wha deid 
babies, and my mither tellt me a’ aboot it. Jesus 
loves the bairnies, an’ he carries the babies in 
his bosom. There ’s no cold nor no heat — no 
sickness nor no tears — where my mither is ” — 
with a little break in his voice. 

The woman ’s face wore a strange, far-away 
look. Her intelligence was being aroused. She 
had heard from time to time of God and of 
Christ, of heaven and of prayer, but she had 
heard as one without ears. No message had 
ever come addressed to her. All these things. 


WHEN SUN CAME AFTER STORM. 241 

were for people with leisure and money and 
homes. Now it seemed different. 

“ Is your mother dead ?” 

“ Aye ; she died amaist as soon ’s we landed 
in this kintra. She bade me never to forget my 
father’s an’ my mither’s God — an’ I winna. An’ 
to pray every day, an’ I wull. An’ to luik oot 
always for a chance to tell folk aboot oor Saviour, 
an’ hoo he deid to save us, an’ I wull. An’ she 
said God himsel’ wad care for me, an’ she deid.” 
The boyish voice trembled again. 

“An’ yer daddy ?” 

“ He died in Scotland.” 

“ An’ were ye left alone ?” 

“ Aye.” 

“ I do n’t call that God takin’ good care of 
you.” 

The boy seemed momentarily staggered. 
“ But he did,” he answered. “ I had a sair fever 
an’ went to a braw hospital, an’ lived fine an’ 
learned good English.” 

“ How came ye here away ?” 

“They got me a place to work for a gar- 
dener. He wanted to gae West an’ took me. 
But his wife couldna thole me. She couldna 
thole anything her mon liked, an’ she wadna 
gie him ony peace till he let me gae wi’ they 
Bakers yon ; an’ they were a shiftless lot. It 
made me sick to see ’em. Gin I hadna been of 
16 


242 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


an’ unco thankfu’ deesposition, an’ unco weel in- 
structit, I couldna hae thankit the gude God for 
the dirty messes they cookit. An’ when I came 
doon wi’ the fever an’ shakes ye ken they left 
me here. I feel better the night, though I ’d 
been thinkin’ I wad surely dee.” 

“ God might ’a’ cared for you better than to 
drop you out here in this lone waste, nary 
house in sight, and chance to starve come win- 
ter.” 

“Na, na, hoo ken you that?” the boy re- 
joined wistfully. ‘‘ Belike he was carin’ for you. 
Didna I help you with the bairn ? Belike you ’ll 
be a gude woman the noo, an’ no be like they 
Bakers mair, an’ teach your bairnie gude ways, 
an’ help your man gar the Ian’ gie us great 
things come winter. Gin I get on my legs I ’ll 
gar things grow my ain sel’, for I ken hoo. An’ 

I ’ll help fine, an’ we ’ll hae things better for 
the bit laddie, for I ken hoo. I ken a heap o’ 
things.” 

The woman’s horizon seemed to widen. Some- 
thing of the greatness and calmness of the prai- \ 
rie seemed to enter into her nature. Something : 
of the soft clear light that flooded the landscape , 
seemed to be shining dimly in her own soul — ' 
the light of hope and trust ; even the light of ■ 
God’s love. And she had her baby sleeping ; 
safely in her arms. | 


WHEN SUN CAME AFTER STORM. 24s 

“ Wull you love the Lord Christ wha died to 
save you, an’ wha carries your wee bairns in his 
arms, an’ love and serve the gude God who 
made us a’, an’ loves us a’, an’ grieves sair gin 
we gang oor ain miserable gait, no gettin’ the 
gran’ good that comes frae servin’ him ? Wull 
you — the noo — for the bairnie’s sake top ?” Still 
the sweetness of the boy’s voice, the insistent 
earnestness of it. 

Oh, yes,” she half sobbed, “ if you ’ll teach 

me.” 

‘‘Gin you ’ll pray aften wi’ me the Lord him- 
sel’ wull teach us baith an’ gie us the gift o’ his 
Holy Spirit. Sae I ’ve aye been tellt, an’ my 
mither taught me oor Saviour’s words till I ken 
the maist o’ what he said himsel’.” 

When the dawn came a weary horseman rode 
slowly alone across the prairie to the house, 
head down, utterly discouraged. He had a dim 
feeling that his wife would lose her mind if the 
child died— and he knew it was dead. The herb 
doctor had been gone two months. There was 
no hope for him. He had no money. He must 
go and dig another little grave. 

But the boy crawled out to meet him, and 
half supporting himself by the side of the jaded 
horse said, with a smile on his thin face : “ The 
gude God has spared the bairnie ’s life and its 
mither’s a glad woman. Dinna luik sae doon- 


244 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


hearted, mon ! I ’m better inyser an’ I ’ll help 
you fine. I ken a’ aboot diggin’.” 

That was hard on to thirty years ago. The 
prairie is prairie no more, but rich farm lands. 
The woman lives yet and she is old. But her old 
face is far younger and more peaceful and hap- 
py than her young face ever was. The baby, 
man grown, with a bit of a boy of his own, is, so 
the neighbors tell each other, “ a grand good 
son to his mother.” The husband died before 
their times were at their best, but not before he 
had found out that manhood was worth some- 
thing, and that even he could serve God out 
there in the broad, new country. 

And the boy kept his word and “helped 
fine.” He made it the business of his life to obey 
his good Scotch mother and tell of the love of 
Christ. And the people on the farm are proud 
indeed when the great minister comes from the 
city church and stays with them a while, just as 
decisive, just as urgent, just as confident, almost 
as sweet-voiced as when, a little lad, he “ kent a’ 
aboot ” so many things. 


WHEN SUN CAME AFTER STORM. 


245 


CHAPTER X. 

ROBERT COMES TO THE FRONT. 

“ A schoolboy’s tale ! The wonder of the house.” 

Cousin Eunice,” said Robert in a com- 
plaining tone, “ I ’m sure the river will be down 
and everybody gone before you write out my 
bear story, the one Mr. Slocum told me. Yester- 
day the river stopped rising. The drift is all 
gone out of it, and I do really believe to-day it 
will fall — well, as much as an inch !” 

Eunice laughed. “ If it goes down as fast as 
that, Robert, why then you can have me read 
the bear story, when I have finished it, to you 
all alone by yourself, to keep you from pining 
after your lost guests.” 

“ No ! no ! Eunice ! I want it read to them 
all. I want to see the boys stare at the bear 
story. And you promised me, Eunice ; folks 
must keep promises.” 

''So they must, and so will I. This very 
evening the bear story will be ready.” 

" There ! I was pretty sure you would not 
disappoint me ; you hardly every do.” 

" Do I ever?” 

" Well, no ; I think not. My ! I wish it was 


246 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

evening. I want to see what the boys will say 
to that bear story.” 

When, with a shout of “story-time!” the 
children had taken their usual evening places, 
Madame Baron said, “ Robert is going to give 
the first story to-night.” 

“Pooh!” “Pshaw!” whispered Ned and 
Ben under breath. 

“ Mr. Slocum told it to me, and Cousin Eunice 
wrote it out, and she is going to read it for me,” 
explained Robert. 

“ Oh, that ’s better,” whispered Ned and Ben. 

Eunice read : 

“A NINE-YEARS-OLD HERO.” 

“ I really must get to the store, Henry. The 
church and Sunday-school will begin Sunday 
week, and Jimsey cannot go unless he has shoes 
and a suit. I need a frock and a bonnet, and 
as baby Grace came on the edge of winter she 
has never had any wrap but my old shawl. She 
must have something so that we can carry her 
along to meeting. I can’t more ’n get Jimsey’s 
suit and my frock done if I go now.” 

“ That ’s so, Maria ; and this is just the after- 
noon to go. We could get back by milking- 
time ; the roads are prime. But I tell you what : 
I feel skeery about setting off with two children 
behind them frisky young mules that are not 


ROBERT COMES TO THE FRONT. 


247 


used to being driven. I ’m not a mite afraid for 
you and me. I can bold ’em in, if I ’m let alone. 
But wild teams and children do n’t fit, and that ’s 
a fact. 

“ Then there ’s that burning we began this 
morning. If the wind springs up the fire might 
revive along toward the fence, and creep down 
on the barn, if no one was here to watch it. It 
would be pretty hard on us, Maria, to come back 
and find our house burnt up. It does appear to 
me we had better leave the children at home. 
Jimsey can look out for the burning if it comes 
up again ; and he can take care of baby Grace.” 

“ I never have left the children here alone, 
out of sight of neighbors,” said Mrs. Hunt, hes- 
itatingly. 

What good could the neighbors do?” spoke 
up Jimsey, between two installments of corn- 
bread and gravy. “Why, mam dearie, don’t I 
take care of Grace ’most all day sometimes ?” 

“Yes, you do,” said his mother, “and if you 
were not such a good help my work would n’t 
get on so nice and easy. I ’m not afraid to trust 
baby Grace to you, Jimsey. If there ’s a better 
boy than you I never saw him.” 

“And if any thing comes along to make 
trouble— there ’s my gun,” said his father. 

“Oh, I ’d rather Jimsey let the gun alone,” 
cried Mrs. Hunt. 


248 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

“ Now, mam,. dear, it is only boys that don’t 
know guns that get hurt fooling with them. 
You know I ’d never touch it unless I had to — so 
that you yourself would want me to.” 

“That’s so, Jimsey, you are just as trusty 
as any man,” said both parents. 

Jimsey was a big boy for his nine years, 
clear-eyed and strong ; he held up his head now 
and looked bigger than ever, for nothing makes 
a boy feel better than to be told that he is trust- 
ed, when he knows that he tries to be worthy 
of it. 

“ Come, Maria — do n’t be afraid to leave Grace 
with Jimsey ; let us start.” 

“ Do, mam dear. I ’ll run help father har- 
ness while you get ready, and when you are 
gone I ’ll do up the dishes as good as a girl. I ’ll 
have to be girl and boy too, until Grace grows.” 

“ You ’re as good as any two of both boys and 
girls,” said his mother gratefully. 

In a little time the frisky young mules trot- 
ted off with the light wagon and the eggs, butter, 
cheese and smoked meat that were to be traded 
for spring clothes. Jimsey washed the dishes, 
made all very neat, then gave Grace a cup of 
milk and rocked her to sleep. Jimsey had a 
sweet voice, and Grace lying back on his arm, 
her big black eyes fixed on his face, listened 
until slowly her eye-lids fell, a pink flush crept 


ROBERT COMES TO THE FRONT. 


249 


over her dimpled cheeks, and Jimsey said, 
“There — you’re sound asleep, baby.” He car- 
ried her through the open door to the bed-room 
and laid her in her crib. The window was open, 
and Jimsey concluded to leave it so and tuck 
the baby up a little more closely. In fact he 
covered her more closely than his mother would 
have thought needed. 

Next Jimsey looked out to see if any red 
tongues hinted of reviving fire. None. Then 
he had a little conflict. When school closed, 
two weeks before, Jimsey had made up his mind 
to do ten examples each day in his arithmetic. 
Examples which he could not do, after honest 
trying, his father helped him with. No one 
had told Jimsey that he must do this — he had 
made no promise to parents or teacher. This 
day he had a book, brought over by a school- 
mate the day before ; even glorious “ Robinson 
Crusoe.” How delightful to spend all that after- 
noon with Crusoe ! “ But I promised myself,” 

said Jimsey, “and I ’m going to keep my bar- 
gains with me. Come on, slate — we’ll have 
those ten sums first.” 

He liked arithmetic, and was soon so deep in 
those sums that he forgot all else. Grace was 
a royal sleeper, and there was no sound except 
the call of a crow now and then, and from the 
barn the persistent bawling of a calf shut up 


250 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

for the first day from its mother. The bawl- 
ing of weaning calves was too familiar a sound 
to disturb Grace or Jimsey. 

Neither did Jimsey hear a far less common 
sound, the dull steady padding of heavy steps 
and the deep steady breathing of great hot lungs, 
until through the open front door walked in an 
enormous — bear! Jimsey was sitting in the 
open front window, and when he saw the bear 
he, without stopping for a thought, flung arith- 
metic and slate at his visitor, rolled straight 
out of the window and took two steps for a run. 
Then he thought — Grace ! He had promised 
to take good care of her — and he had left her to 
the bear ! Jimsey would rather have been eaten 
by the bear himself than have its big teeth 
crunch the soft pink body of his little sister. 
Therefore Jimsey wheeled about and dashed in 
at the door faster than he had tumbled out by 
the window. Meanwhile the bear had sniffed 
at the slate and arithmetic, and had smelled 
warm live flesh — no other than baby in her crib. 
The crib . was a high, strong, home-made one, 
and Jimsey had tucked baby in close, so the first 
affair of Bruin was to drag off the blanket. The 
big jaws were tugging at this when Jimsey 
burst like a whirlwind past the bear, and snatch- 
ing the uncovered baby from the crib jumped 
out of that open bed-room window. That brought 


ROBERT COMES TO THE FRONT. 


Jimsey opposite an open door, the door of the 
out-kitchen, so into that refuge he darted and 
swung the slight door to behind him. The bear 
looked big enough to push that door down, and 
Jimsey, moreover, was now very angry with a 
brute so wicked as to want to eat the baby. In 
the kitchen stood a cupboard with perforated 
tin doors. Baby could neither smother nor fall 
out there,” thought Jimsey, so he put her on an 
upper shelf and locked her in. Next he climbed 
up to take the loaded gun from its hook and 
opened the out-kitchen door. He heard the bear 
growling terribly in the bed-room. He caught 
up a little box, ran and put it by the window, so 
that he could be high enough for a good aim, 
stepped upon the box, and brought his gun to 
his shoulder. The bear was still busy tearing 
the blanket, very angry at the disappearance of 
the baby. Hearing Jimsey place the box and 
j climb up, the beast raised its head. Jimsey saw 
I - a double row of big white teeth, a great red 
throat, two burning eyes. Then there happened, 
all together, a loud crash from the gun, a horri- 
ble roar, the box fell over and Jimsey lay on his 
back, and the gun went — somewhere. Jimsey 
did not stop for the gun. He felt as if a thou- 
sand bears were after him ! He rushed to the 
out-kitchen, took the screaming Grace from the 
shelf, and, as the coast was clear, ran with her 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 


253 

to the barn. He climbed into the loft and 
pulled up the little ladder, but he had heard 
how bears climb, so expected to see several of 
them coming up into the loft every minute. 

Just at sunset father and mother Hunt drove 
up to the door with their purchases. No chil- 
dren were waiting. 

“Oh, Jimsey, where are you? What is 
wrong?” cried Mrs. Hunt. Then she ran into 
the front-room, and there was a little stream of 
blood from the bed-room and a great bear lying 
by the crib. I think mother Hunt would have 
fainted, or gone crazy, if at that second she had 
not seen Jimsey running from the barn with a 
loudly crying baby ! 

“ Who shot this bear?” cried papa Hunt. 

“Is the bear dead? Then I did kill it!” 
screamed Jimsey. 

Now mother Hunt had Grace in her arms 
and papa Hunt had Jimsey on his knee. “ You 
are a hero, Jimsey I” he said. 

“You saved baby’s life,” said mother Hunt. 

“ Not at first,” said Jimsey. “ I was so scared 
I hopped out and left her alone ; but that second 
I felt I heard God say ‘ Where is your sister ?’ 
just as he asked Cain about Abel. That scared 
me more than the bear, so I ran right back and 
grabbed Grace from under the bear’s nose. After 
I got to the kitchen I was only angry and wanted 


ROBERT COMES TO THE FRONT 


^5S 

to kill the bear. But when the bear looked at me 
and roared, and I shot, and tumbled, oh, I was 
all weak and shaky, and I could hardly stand. 
When we got up in the loft Grace screamed 
awful, and I felt as if I ’d die ! Then I thought 
of the verse I learned Sunday, that God gives 
his beloved sleep, and I prayed and said, ‘ Dear 
God, you love all babies, and Grace is one of 
your beloved ; and please give her sleep, for I ’m 
afraid she ’ll bring the bear here if she cries.’ 
And then I tried to sing soft to her, and pretty 
soon God sent her to sleep. 

“ But I kept shaking and shaking, I was so 
afraid — not like a hero one bit, you see, papa ; 
and so I prayed for myself. I said, ‘ Please, 
God, keep the bear away. I ’m not David, I ’m 
only scared Jimsey ; but you kept the lions and 
bears from David, please keep them from me.’ 
Then pretty soon I felt all right, and not afraid, 
and I went to the place where the board is 
broken out in the mow and watched there until 
I saw you come ; and I did n’t know what had 
become of the bear. You see, I was not a hero, 
papa, only a dreadfully scared Jimsey.” 

“Now I know you are a hero,” said papa 
Hunt, proudly. 

“ I do n’t believe any of us would have been 
as brave as Jimsey !” said Robert. 


254 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


“ I mak’ sure I wad hae rin,” said Alex ; “ or 
at the best I wad hae shut mysel’ up in the cup- 
board wi’ the bairnie and lef’ yon auld bear to 
tear oop all that was in the hoose ! I ’m fearin’ 
there is little o’ the hero aboot me.” 

“ I know I would have got the gun and shot 
the bear,” said Ben bluffly. 

“ No, you would n’t,” cried Ned, “ you ’d have 
run, screaming like mad ; and if you had got the 
gun you wouldn’t have come anywhere near 
hitting the bear.” 

“ Little sons, hush,” said Mr. Danforth. ‘‘ It 
is not well to brag about ourselves or belittle 
our neighbors; and above all things brothers 
should hold together.” 

“Well, don’t you wish we were acquainted 
with Jimsey ?” said Robert. “ Mr. Slocum is his 
uncle ; he said so. Jimsey lives in Nebraska. 
There was a reward of ten dollars for every 
bear killed in the state ; and Jimsey ’s father got 
it for him and put it into the bank to start a 
bank-account for Jimsey. Cousin Eunice, why 
did n’t you put that in ? I told you to.” 

“ Excuse my neglect ; I forgot it, Robert.” 

“What do you suppose made the bear go 
there ?” said Cicely. “ I did n’t know bears ran 
around loose in Nebraska.” 

“They don’t,” said Robert. “ Mr. Slocum 
said there had n’t been a wild bear seen about 


ROBERT COMES TO THE FRONT. 


255 


there for some years. The winter had been 
hard, and there’ was a woody mountain— a little 
mountain — a mile or two off from Jimsey’s 
house, he guessed the bear came from that.” 

“ Do you suppose it came to eat up that baby 
and Jimsey?” said Belle Danforth anxiously. 

“ I asked Mr. Slocum about that too,” said 
Robert, who had evidently sifted the evidence 
very thoroughly. He said no doubt the bear 
heard the calf bawling and wanted to get that. 
It was a hungry bear. Then as it came along it 
reached the house before the barn, and so it 
walked in.” 

“ Glad I don’t live there,” said Belle. 

“ Suppose I tell you a story now,” said Mr. 
Vance. “ I happened to-day to think of my 
cousin Ben Hone. We were boys together, but 
for some while I was not allowed to go much 
with Ben, for reasons which the story will ex- 
plain. Afterwards I could go with Ben as much 
as I pleased. He is a business man now, and a 
good man : he has a pleasant home and a pair 
of nice boys ; he also is a teacher in the Sunday- 
school. You see I am giving Ben Hone his 
certificate of good conduct before I introduce 
him to your society. If I were to put a motto 
to this story of my cousin it should be : 

“ * How far that little candle throws his beams ! 

So shines a good deed in a naughty world.' 


2j6 the house on the BLUFF. 

I wish you could all have had the privilege of 
knowing old Dr. Kane, the doer of the good 
deed ; but he has been in heaven for ten years. 
Ben Hone will, I am sure, be one of the stars 
in that good man’s crown of rejoicing. This 
story is especially for you, boys. I call it 

“A SILVER QUARTER.” 

“ Ben Hone will soon be a very bad boy.” 
So the neighbors all said. Ben was absenting 
himself from church, from school, from Sabbath- 
school. He was going with bad boys, and in- 
stead of doing any useful works he was into 
every kind of mischief. One day Ben and his 
group of evil companions were sitting upon 
some boxes on a street-corner. 

'‘How hot it is !” cried one of the boys. 
“ Let ’s go and get some beer.” 

“We have n’t any money, an’ they wont trust 
us,” said another. 

“ Ben, you get it from your dad ; he ’s rich.” 

“ He wont give me any,” said Ben gloomily. 
Just then the boys saw Dr. Kane coming down 
the street ; he came slowly, leaning on his gold- 
headed staff, his white hair fell about his shoul- 
ders and his long white beard lay on his breast ; 
he was a picture of noble and venerable old age. 

“ Makes one think always of Abraham,” said 
one of the boys who had been to Sunday-school. 


ROBERT COMES TO THE FRONT 237 

“ Always minds one of the verse about ‘ a 
hoary head being a crown of glory if found in 
the way of righteousness/ and that ’s where he 
is,” said another. 

“ He ’s the kindest-hearted man in town. See 
here, boys ! Watch me get a quarter out of 
him,” exclaimed Ben. 

He bent down and slipped a pebble into each 
shoe and put one in his cheek ; then rubbing 
his eyes hard, until they were red, he nearly 
closed them, as if almost blind, and so limped 
up to Dr. Kane. The good old man saw but 
poorly without his glasses, which he did not 
wear in the street. 

Ben, going near to him, said in a lamenta- 
ble whine, “ Please, mister, give me a quarter to 
buy my dinner.” 

The old man looked at him and said gently, 
“ Poor boy ! lame and nearly blind — and so 
young!” Then taking a quarter from his pocket 
he put it into Ben’s outstretched hand, and 
kindly patting him on the shoulder said, “ God 
bless you, my son,” and passed on. 

Ben returned to the boys, the money shut up 
in his hand. He took the pebbles from his 
mouth and shoes and looked fixedly at the side- 
walk. 

What cheek !” said one boy. 

‘‘ That was sharp of you, Ben !” 

17 


• 2s8 the house on the bluff. 

“ Come along and get us the beer.” 

“ Beer !” cried Ben fiercely ; “ I would n’t 
spend that quarter on beer, or any other kind of 
badness, for any price ! Did you hear what he 
said to me — so as if he meant it: ‘God bless 
you, my son’ ! Oh, I wish I had n’t asked him 
for money !” 

“ Well, if you wont spend it, what will you 
do with it?” demanded the boys. 

“ I do n’t know,” said Ben miserably. 

That quarter, fresh from the good man’s 
touch, given with a benediction, seemed clean 
and sacred to Ben. His own soiled hands and 
pocket with playing-cards in it did not seem 
clean enough for that money. 

“ I ’m going home,” he said crossly. 

He had thought of the top drawer in his 
bureau, a drawer kept so neatly by his good 
mother, everything in it nice and fresh and 
orderly, and smelling of lavender. He would 
put the money there. 

When he reached his room it was clean, 
cool and shady after the hot, dusty street. He 
dropped the quarter in the top drawer, and feel- 
ing himself weighed down by that “ God bless 
you, my son,” he threw himself on the foot of 
the bed to try and sleep it off. Still he thought 
of the money ; suppose some one should find it 
in his drawer and take it. Perhaps he had 


ROBERT COMES TO THE F'RONT. 2^9 

better hide it under the winter flannels in the 
bottom drawer. Well, if he touched it again he 
must wash his hands first. The cool water felt 
good to his hands, and the washed hands showed 
him how dirty his wrists were, so he went to 
the bath-room and took a bath. A bath made 
clean clothes necessary, so he dressed himself 
clean from top to toe. Then he hid the quarter 
under a pile of clean flannels. He was now too 
neat for his usual companions and haunts, and, 
besides, it was dinner-time. After dinner he 
lay down under a tree and fell asleep. He 
dreamed that all the birds sang gently, “ God 
bless you, my son,” and that all the leaves were 
silver quarters and rained down upon him and 
buried him. Finally he awoke, feeling as if 
that quarter weighed five hundred pounds and 
was on his back as fast as Pilgrim’s burden. 
Perhaps if he did some good work he might 
forget that quarter. His mother wished so much 
to have the garden raked — he would do that. 
How pleased his mother was, and how his fa- 
ther’s face brightened at seeing him at two 
meals in succession on time, looking clean and 
quiet ! After tea he could not go loafing about 
with those boys; they would surely speak of 
that quarter. He went early to bed. When 
the light was out the quarter seemed to rise out 
of the drawer and cover the ceiling ; he heard 


26 o THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

Dr. Kane’s voice, saw his venerable face. He 
slept, and now the quarter was a shield on his 
arm ; now it was in his shoes ; it was in his 
pocket weighing like lead. 

At breakfast his father asked him to help 
him with some work in the garden, and at din- 
ner his mother said she must go out in the 
country for three days, to see Cousin Mary, and 
she wanted Ben to harness, the horse and take 
her in the buggy ; he would have a good time 
at Cousin Mary’s, she said : Josephine was 
there. 

Now Ben regarded Josephine with awe and 
admiration. He had seen her but once or twice ; 
she had been through college and had published 
a book. Of course she would not look at him, 
he hoped she would not, but he might regard 
her afar off, and the sight might take off his 
mind from that quarter. 

However, Cousin Mary had been telling Jo- 
sephine about Ben, and how terribly the family 
felt about his misdoings. Josephine invited her- 
self to go fishing- and raspberrying with Ben, 
and she sat in a tree in the moonlight with him 
and they talked. Ben hardly knew what they 
talked about or what he told her, but he pri- 
vately “ felt as if his mind had been turned in- 
side out,” and his evil companions and his re- 
cent actions looked very mean and vile and con- 


ROBERT COMES TO THE FRONT. 261 

temptible to him. Somehow, after that four 
days in the society of Josephine, it seemed man- 
ly to go to church, and the course of a reason- 
able person to do honest work; and Sunday- 
school did not appear babyish, and boys ought 
to be clean -lived, clean - mouthed and clean- 
bodied enough to speak to nice girls and sit 
bravely in their presence and talk sense. He 
went home feeling glad that Josephine was 
coming there for a visit of a week. Maybe he 
would tell her all about that quarter. 

She came, and he did not tell her. The day 
after she left he put on his best suit, took the 
quarter in a new pocketbook and went to Dr. 
Kane’s, asking to see Dr. Kane privately. Then 
he told him. “ And there ’s your quarter, doc- 
tor. It is the biggest quarter and the heaviest 
quarter I ever heard of. Seems as if it was a 
thousand quarters !” 

The doctor took the little silver disc. 

“ God heard my prayer. It has blessed you, 
my son. Here, take it again !” 

“ Oh, I cannot. Why, doctor, it crushes me !” 

“No, my son, it will rather lift you up. 
Think a minute, as in God’s sight : if you will 
try and live a better life, if you will ask God’s 
help to do better, take this quarter again from 
my hand as a token of your pledge.” 

Ben waited for a moment or two. Then with 


262 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

a deep breath he took that quarter from the 
good man’s hand, and once more the doctor said 
in giving it, “ God bless you, my son !” 

“ There, that is a right nice story !” cried the 
boys ; “ that Ben was a pretty bad boy at first.” 

“ All because his parents did not look after 
him properly,” said Mr. Vance. “ It is no kind- 
ness, but a very great unkindness, to allow boys 
to choose their own company and run wild at 
their own will.” 

“There is time for one more story, if it is 
only a middle-sized one,” said Robert, who never 
tired of stories. 

“ I could give you one, if you do n’t mind 
my reading one that has been printed,” said 
Cicely. “ I found it in some cuttings Madame 
Baron gave me for a scrap-book. You see, we 
children did n’t care to spend all our afternoons 
just playing for our own fun ; so we agreed to 
make up a box of playthings to send to the chil- 
dren’s hospital. We have each made a scrap- 
book. We put in them cards or pictures, draw- 
ings, chalk pictures, verses, texts, stories, any- 
thing that might amuse children. Madame 
Baron had a big drawer full of such things up 
in the attic ; and she let us get all that we 
needed to use. The boys made three fox-and- 
geese boards, and two boxes of jack-straws ; and 


ROBERT COMES TO THE FRONT. 263 

Robert gave some dissected maps and pictures 
and a transparent slate. Bella and I cut out a 
dozen or so of stiff paper dolls, painted them 
and made suits for them ; and Miss Eunice and 
Serena helped us all one afternoon, and we 
dressed six dolls — china, and bisque, and wax.” 

Why, we did n’t know you little folks were 
such busy bees,” said Mr. White. “ I should 
like very much to see all these things.” 

“ So should we all,” said Mr. Tracy. 

“ They are in our play-room, in a big basket. 
We were thinking of packing them to-morrow. 
If Madame Baron allows us to bring them in 
here, we will.” 

“ I wish you would bring them,” said Ma- 
dame. 

Alec and Ned ran out and soon brought in 
the basket. Eunice spread out the trophies of 
the children’s skill and kindness on the table. 
It was a very creditable display. 

“ What are these ?” asked Mr. Danforth. He 
held up six bags, tied two and two. In each pair 
one bag was silk and the other velvet, one full 
the other empty ; they were small bags drawn 
together on a ribbon. 

'‘Those are daily-food bags,” said Cicely. 
“ We send those to the Old Ladies’ Home.” 

“Please explain them ; I do n’t quite under- 
stand.” 


264 the house on THE BLUFF. 

“ The plan is to put in the one bag three 
hundred and sixty-five paper slips, one for each 
day in the year. On each slip is written a text, 
or verse, or motto, or quotation — something 
nice to think about. You put in your fingers 
and take out one slip each morning. When 
you have read it, or learned what is on it, you 
drop it into the empty bag. By and by all the 
slips have changed bags, and you can give the 
full bag to some other body. Do n’t you know 
I got ten or twenty or even forty slips, from 
each of the people in this house. Ezra and 
Keziah and the others gave me some. 

“ There was great searching of the Daily-Food 
books, and the hymn-books. We only put one 
hundred and eighty-five slips in each bag, it 
takes so much work and so many people to get 
three hundred and sixty-five, These are six 
months bags.” 

“Thank you. Cicely,” said Mr. Tracy. “I 
never had heard of such bags before. I shall 
remember about them. You cannot guess how 
such little gifts as these may be prized by old 
and young. One day I was visiting a sick lady 
of my church, and on her couch lay half a dozen 
quaint little paper dolls and a time-yellowed 
envelope. ‘ I ’m not playing with these dolls,’ 
she said, ‘ they are helping me to remember. 
Thirty years ago I went to play with the 


ROBERT COMES TO THE FRONT. 26s 

children of our minister, one day, and their 
mother, a busy woman, stopped her work to 
make me these little dolls because I admired 
those she had made for her little girl. Through 
all the joys and sorrows of thirty years I have 
kept these paper dolls. How often they have 
reminded me to be unselfish and to help others, 
doing cheerily the little where the much was 
forbidden to me !’ But, Cicely, we are hindering 
your story-reading, and it is nearly nine.” 

“The children must surely hear Cicely’s 
' one more ’ story ; it will not take long to read 
it,” said Madame Baron. 

“It is a very simple story, but I liked it,” 
said Cicely, “ perhaps because I am apt to be 
selfish and not like to have strangers claiming 
my time or attention. Mother often says I miss 
opportunities of 

“ENTERTAINING ANGELS.” 

“ With such a big family as ours one more 
makes very little difference. Mr. Lane is going 
home for a few days and he said I could use 
his room if I liked, so I will tell the ‘ Committee 
of Entertainment,’ after prayer-meeting, that we 
can take one minister.” Thus spoke Mother 
Bates. 

“Yes, do,” said 'Anna ; “it is nice to do all 
that we can.” 


266 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

Mrs. Bates and her three daughters were 
washing the tea-dishes. Kit, the small black 
girl, their only servant, was brushing up crumbs, 
washing potatoes, and generally getting affairs 
ready for night and morning. 

No one in the church would have asked 
Mrs. Bates to entertain a stranger: it was the 
general opinion that the Bateses had all they 
could do to get on, and that the Bates girls had 
a terribly hard time getting educated. Mrs. 
Bates was a widow ; the only son was a helpless 
cripple, the three girls were ambitious for edu- 
cation ; the sole means of income was repre- 
sented by the boarders, and in Danberg board 
was cheap. Hard pressed as the Bates family 
found itself, they managed to have a share in 
all the church work. No one was surprised 
when Mrs. Bates said, “ Send me one of the 
ministers,” and a card was handed her bearing 
the words, Rev. T. Rhode, Redfield.” 

The room was made ready, the three girls 
were just home from school and the cripple had 
been wheeled into the sitting-room to help en- 
tertain the guest, when there was a ring at the 
door, and one of the “ Reception Committee ” 
stood there with Mr. Rhode. The “ committee ” 
was a young man, but he blushed a little when, 
instead of the one “ Rev.,” he presented Mr. 
Rhode, also a delicate, weary-looking Mrs. Rhode, 


ROBERT COMES TO THE FRONT. 267 

and a child of two — a cripple who could not 
stand. Mrs. Bates was the “ reception committee’’ 
on behalf of the family, and spontaneously her 
large, warm heart went out to the timid and 
tired stranger-lady. 

'‘I knew it was a real imposition for me to 
come,” said Mrs. Rhodes. 

“ Come right in, and don’t speak of it. I ’m 
real glad to see you,” said Mrs. Bates. 

She carried the little child up stairs herself, 
and hastily added the rocker from the ‘^girls’ 
room ” to the furniture of the room loaned by 
Mr. Lane. 

“ I made her come,” explained Mr. Rhode. 
“ Our house stands by itself, and she was alone 
and timid at night. She has not been a mile 
from the house for nearly three years, and one 
of our church folks opened his purse and gave 
her money for the trip and to do some shopping. 
He wanted Dr. Bliss here to see little Nell. 
Redfield is a very far back country charge, and 
stores and doctors are scarce.” 

It ’s all right,” said Mrs. Bates, who was 
curling the child’s hair and petting it. I ’m 
sure, Mrs. Rhode, you ought to take an outing. 
I ’ll send word to Dr. Bliss to come early to- 
morrow to see your baby. Just feel content, 
and we ’ll give you a rest and make you have a 
good time. Now, are you ready to go down ?” 


268 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

Mrs. Rhode had brushed her hair, taken a 
clean kerchief, and was ready. The “ company ” 
being established in the parlor with Tom Bates 
and a spare boarder, Mrs. Bates adjourned to 
the kitchen, baby in arms. 

“ I ’ll admit that my heart sank when I saw 
a lady and a baby,” she said to the girls, “ we 
are so thronged. But she looked so timid and 
and apologetic and delicate that God gave me 
grace to be real cordial.” 

“You always are cordial, mumsy,” said Anna 
Bates, cutting bread. 

“ I just reflected in a minute that the visit 
would be short, and if we made it pleasant it 
might be a long help and pleasure to her to 
remember. I think she is one of the people 
who get but few pleasures. Then I felt, if we 
seemed begrudging, we would feel, by and by, 
ashamed of it. Besides, girls, I always see our 
Saviour in the stranger at the door, and you 
know the words, ‘ a stranger and ye took me in.’ 
‘ Be not forgetful to entertain strangers.’ ” 

“Why, mumsy, don’t worry. We can do it. 
It will be all the same at the end of the year,” 
said Ruth philosophically. 

“The trouble though, girls, is,” said Mrs. 
Bates, “that one of you will have to stay at 
home from school. If Mrs. Rhode is to have a 
rest, and any pleasure, one of us must keep the 


ROBERT COMES TO THE FRONT 269 

baby and let her have a chance to go to the 
meetings and do her shopping and rest a little.” 

Ruth contemplated the plate of cold meat 
she had sliced. “Anna can’t stay out; she’s 
going to graduate in June, and every day 
counts with her,” she said. 

“ And you can’t stay out, Ruth,” cried Hetty, 
who was moulding croquettes ; “ you were sick 
a month and had all that to make up ; you can’t 
afford any more lost time or you '11 be thrown 
back a term.” 

“ It seems as if it must be you, Hetty,” said 
Mrs. Bates, getting cake out of the safe while 
she held the stranger-baby on her left arm. 

“ Of course it will be Hetty ; she ’s tough,” 
said that young woman briskly. “ I like babies, 
and I ’m a first-class shopper, if I am the young- 
est. I mean to borrow Mrs. Moore’s buggy and 
take Mrs. Rhode and the baby riding, and you 
can tend baby to-morrow afternoon, little mo- 
ther, while I take Mrs. Rhode to the stores.” 

“ Yes, surely. You do n’t know how this crip- 
ple baby goes to my heart. I think of my grief 
with poor Tom. Anna, you run over to Dr. 
Bliss and tell him the case, and get him to come 
to-morrow morning. I ’m so glad, girls, that 
you all feel as I do : that now the Lord has sent 
us this duty we must be real hearty in doing 
it.” 


270 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

“ Of course. What sense would there be in 
turning disagreeable over it?” said the girls, 
and Hetty gave no hint of her burden in stay- 
ing home three or four days, when algebra was 
such a hard study for her and she needed every 
class hour upon it. 

“ I knew it would do you good to come, 
Ada,” said Mr. Rhode that night. “ I have n’t 
seen you look so bright for a year.” 

“ I felt it would be such an imposition on 
strangers,” said Mrs. Rhode. “ I could not have 
done it, only for little Nell’s being seen by a 
famous doctor. I am glad I came ; those dear 
kind people seem so willing to take us in ; they 
are so good and sympathetic, and they are plain 
people, with plain things, and I am not afraid 
of them. That boarder, Mr. Hock, is going to 
study medicine, and his eldest brother is one of 
the surgeons in the big hospital in Cincinnati. 
He seemed real interested about Nell, and says 
he means to write to his brother all about her. 
Do you know, though, these three girls are try- 
ing to get through school so that they can teach, 
and they have that helpless young man and ten 
boarders to do for, and no servant but a little 
girl twelve years old ! And they insist on my 
going out and leaving baby to them.” 

“Well, you do just as they plan for you; 
that will be the best way.” 


ROBERT COMES TO THE FRONT. 


271 


The Convention closed Thursday noon, but 
the Bates family insisted upon keeping their 
guests until Saturday morning. “Get all you 
can out of the trip,” said Mrs. Bates cheerily to 
Mrs. Rhode. “I’m so glad if it is doing you 
good.” 

“You never can know how much good it is 
doing me,” said Mrs. Rhode earnestly. 

“ It has done me good,” said Anna. “ I was 
in a terrible quandary about my graduating 
essay, and now I see my way plain through it, 
after hearing Mr. Rhodes tell about that mission 
he had when he was a student.” 

“ And I believe I shall not have one bit more 
trouble making up my geometry, that I fell be- 
hind in when I was sick,” said Ruth, “ Mr. 
Rhode has such a good way of explaining those 
hard problems. I see right through them.” 

“You make us feel more glad that we came, 
if we have been any help to you,” said Mrs. 
Rhode. “ I know I can never thank Hetty 
enough for the way she has cared for Nell, and 
taken me about, and helped me in my shopping. 
I never saw such a girl in buying things.” 

“ That is Hetty’s particular forte,” said Anna. 
“ Although she is the youngest she does all our 
buying.” 

“ I have a cousin who is head shopper in a 
great city store. She buys for the country cus- 


2'72 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


tomers, and gets a good salary for it/' spoke up 
one of the boarders who was lingering at the 
table. 

I believe there 's my line in life when I ’m 
through school/’ said Hetty. “ I never heard of 
the business before, but I take to it immediate- 

ly” 

“I’m so thankful we made them real wel- 
come and comfortable,” said Mrs. Bates when 
her guests were gone. “ The Lord just helped 
us to do it as unto him. I know they enjoyed 
it.” 

“ It seemed rather a big undertaking at first,” 
said Anna, “ but how terrible it would be if we 
now looked back at neglect or grudging actions. 
You set us all a good example, mammy dear, 
and it would have been a pity not to follow it.” 

“Something may come of it besides your 
graduating essay. Nan,” said Ruth, “for Dr. 
Bliss wrote to Mr. Hock’s brother, the surgeon, 
and who knows but between them all, with the 
new surgery, they may cure that poor little 
Nell!” 

The next July Anna received a letter from 
Mrs. Rhode begging her to come to them for a 
little visit. Anna after a year of hard work was 
needing a change, and gladly went. When she 
came home she reported that Nell had spent 
with her mother nearly two months in the great 


ROBERT COMES TO THE FRONT. 


273 


hospital and, with the home treatment, was ex- 
pected soon to be well. Also, by recommenda- 
tion of Mr. Rhode, Anna herself had been given 
a position in an academy about ten miles from 
Redfield. “ So the question of what I shall do 
for a living is settled very satisfactorily for next 
year. I tell you what. Mother Bates : out of my 
salary I mean to hire you a good, strong, grown- 
up servant, so you will not be working yourself 
to death as you have for the past four years, and 
Ruth and Hetty will have a little easier time 
finishing up their school course.” 

“We really did entertain angels unawares,” 
laughed Hetty. 

“See how when one gives in God’s name, 
j hoping for nothing again, the Lord himself 
sends us back ‘good measure, pressed down, 

I and shaken together, and running over,’ ” said 
, Mother Bates. 


18 


S74 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE FALLING WATERS. 

“ Oh, use me, Lord, use even me. 

Just as thou wilt, and when and where, 

Until thy blessed face I see. 

Thy rest, thy joy, thy glory share !” 

Let me tell you, the river is going down 
ever so fast. Ezra says by Monday the men 
will be at the bridge repairing it. It wont be 
dangerous any more, now that the ice-blocks 
and drift are gone. I expect all our flood fun 
will be over in a week.” With these remarks 
Robert met Ned and Ben on Saturday morning. 
“ I ’ll be real lonesome when you go away,” he 
added to the boys, ignoring the fact that there 
had been some jarring between them, both in 
work and play, and that Cicely had more than 
once been obliged to act as mediator. 

“Wont we miss the stories!” said Ben and 
Ned. 

“ Do n’t your folks tell stories ? I get ’em 
every evening.” 

“We have them sometimes. I’ll tell you 
what, no one here has called out papa for a 
story. He says he can’t tell them. And he can’t 


THE FALLING WA TERS. 


275 


tell fairy stories or make-ups ; he makes a dread- 
ful balk on them ! But you know, Robert, papa 
travelled about all over the world when he was 
a young man, and he tells the grandest Travel- 
lers’ Tales ever you heard.” 

Let us get after him for some to-day,” said 
Robert. 

Now it happened that Mr. Danforth had no 
confidence in his own powers as a story-teller, 
and he greatly objected to entertaining with his 
rehearsals what he called the grown-ups of 
Madame Baron’s Flood-Time Party,” some of 
whom he considered proficients in the art of 
story-telling. Therefore he made a bargain 
with the juniors of the party that he should tell 
his tales that afternoon in their playroom in the 
granary, and that instead of one or two he would 
tell a number, if no one was admitted into the 
audience except the children. Also, the whole 
affair was to be a profound secret ; and the play- 
room doors were to be locked. Of course, all 
this mystery was arranged to heighten the en- 
joyment of one of the last periods of the story- 
telling. The boys thought in all good faith that 
it was arranged in behalf of Mr. Danforth’s 
great modesty. 

Very soon after dinner Mr. Danforth was 
escorted to the granary ; the doors were locked, 
a big easy-chair was pulled forward, a row of 


276 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

children in comfortable attitudes placed them- 
selves about it, and Robert, as master of cere- 
monies, announced, “ Now we are ready.” 

“ This morning,” said Mr. Danforth, “ I was 
looking over some of the books in Madame’s 
library, and I found Cooper’s ‘ Leather Stocking 
Tales,’ in which I delighted much when I was a 
lad. A great-uncle of mine had known Cooper, 
and also the famous simple-hearted old trapper 
and hunter who has passed into fame by being 
placed in the books of our early American nov- 
elist. My great-uncle lived, when he was young, 
in Oswego, New York. Oswego was then a 
very small village, but important, as it lay at 
the mouth of a canal and on the lake where the 
trade came from the West and from Canada. 

Near neighbor of my great-uncle was Mr. M ; 

and now I will tell you about 

“COOPER AND LEATHER STOCKING.” 

Early in the autumn of 1808 Fenimore 
Cooper, a lad of nineteen, a midshipman in the 
U. S. Navy, was ordered to Oswego, N. Y., to 
oversee the building of a brig for service on 
Lake Ontario. He brought with him to Oswego 
a construction party, and as war seemed immi- 
nent, and the lake towns on the American shore 
were practically defenceless, the building of the^ 
brig went busily onward through the winter J 


THE FALLING WATERS. 


277 


Cooper secured board in the family of Mr. 
M , a Scotch gentleman. The young mid- 

shipman was exceedingly fond of children, and 
the two little sons of his host attracted his atten- 
tion. When he left the house in the morning to 
go to his shipyard he usually took with him the 
younger boy and, having kept him with him all 
the morning, returned to dinner with the child 
riding on his shoulder. The busy young ship- 
builder found time to whittle toy boats and 
make dry-docks and shipyards for his little com- 
rade. The elder boy, about eight years of age, 
though often invited, seldom appeared at the 
scene of work. 

“Why is it that John will not come with 
me ?” asked Cooper one evening at supper. 

“ John is entirely taken up with an old fel- 
low out here in the woods, a hunter and trapper. 
The boy is fairly bewitched with him, and is off 
I to his hut the minute my eyes are turned from 
i him. I ’m going to send to New York for a 
I tutor and see if I can keep him in better com- 
pany,” said Mr. M . 

“Why, what is wrong with the hunter?” 
asked Cooper. 

“Nothing is wrong with him,” spoke up 

Mrs. M . “He is a quiet, kindly, simple 

man, silent and mannerly, and never fails to get 
game when he goes for it; which is fortunate 


278 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

for us, for we depend on him for our venison 
and wild fowl.” 

“He is silent enough about here,” said Mr. 

M , “but when he gets the boy off in the 

woods he tells him tales of Indians and hunting 
that drive him frantic. 1 11 stop all that. My 
boy cannot spend all his life in the woods ; he 
has to go to college.” 

“The woods were my joy when I was his 
age,” said Lieut. Cooper, smiling as he remem- 
bered that his passion for forests and fields 
and pedestrian tours generally had resulted in 
his dismission from college ; “ and it seems to 

me, Mr. M , that nature and a harmless old 

hunter are not the worst friends a boy can 
have.” 

“ The old fellow consorts with Indians and 
eats loon,” said Mr. M in deep disgust. 

Cooper laughed : “I have done both, and 
never found myself a bit the worse for it! 
What is the old man’s name ?” 

“ He goes by several names, as people see fit 
to give them to him. He answers to any, but I 
doubt if he has ever told his real name. He 
has a history back of him, I suppose.” 

“ Then it is a history of sorrow, not of wick- 
edness,” said Mrs. M , who was evidently 

the hunter’s partisan. “ There ’s no harm in 
him.” 


THE FALLING WATERS. 279 

“ I reckon it is trouble,” said her husband. 

He was here when I came, twelve years ago. 
I think he was about forty then, but he looked 
older. He told me lately that he meant to move 
away, the place was settling up too thickly ; he 
wanted room to breathe. I wonder what he’d 
think of Glasgow.” 

“ He has seen cities, I ’m sure,” said Mrs. 
M . 

“ John, will you take me to see your friend ?” 
Cooper asked. 

“ I ’ll take you, but he does n’t like to see 
people, and he may walk off and not speak to 
you.” 

“ I ’ll risk it. If he does that I ’ll go again. 
Once I ’ve learned the way to his hut I wager I 
can make friends with him. Maybe he knows 
some of the chiefs of the Six Nations that I 
knew when I used to live at home.” 

“You speak a good word for me to the old 
trapper and get him to make friends with me,” 
said Cooper next morning to John. 

“ He says you may come,” remarked the boy 
casually to the lieutenant a few days later, “ but 
I had to coax him for a long time ; and I told 
him you liked woods and hunting and Indians, 
and got turned out of college. He opened his 
mouth wide and laughed down inside of him at 
that.” 


^So THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

The next week the lieutenant and the boy 
made their way to the trapper’s hut on the shore 
of the lake, where there was a thickly wooded 
knoll, about a mile and a half from the settle- 
ment. Knowing from the boy of the proposed 
visit the woodsman had roasted one of the 

“ loons,” a water-fowl so despised by Mr. M 

that he ranked eating it as next to cannibalism 
or clay-eating ! 

The trapper, the lieutenant and the boy 
found it very good and they sat hour after hour 
by the big fire, the hunter smoking some of the 
tobacco which the officer had brought with 
him. It was a November evening, the “ hunt- 
er’s moon ” hung fair and low over the wide 
waters of the lake spread out beneath the cliff. 
Cooper, like the boy, had the art of making the 
old recluse talk. The hunter told of Indians, of 
frontier life, of battles, surprises, escapes, of 
hunts and feasts, and long hunger. Cooper lis- 
tened and studied the man before him ; his 
romance-loving nature filled in the lapses of the 
hunter’s speech and made for him a past, ideal- 
izing him, surrounding him with a pathos and 
a sombre glory, creating from him Leather 
Stocking, the hero of those five famous “ Leath- 
er Stocking Tales ” which made of the whilom 
brig - builder, midshipman, country - gentleman 
the celebrated author. Two continents waited 








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THE FALLING WA TERS. 


281 


for the output of the fascinating stories the germ 
of which had been planted in Cooper’s mind by 
that camp-fire in the woods. 

During the winter months Cooper saw much 
of the old man, and among his tales one which 
most fascinated him was the story of the great 
cataract whose waters in foam and thunder 
poured down the gorge of the Niagara River 
into Ontario. Thoughts of that wonderful spec- 
tacle kept the lieutenant waking. After the 
brig was finished, was launched, had proved a 
success. Cooper set himself to persuade the old 
hunter to accompany him to Niagara, that won- 
der in the woods which the Indians called the 
“ Altar of the Great Spirit.” After long persua- 
sion the trapper agreed to cross the lake in the 
brig and guide Cooper through the woods to 
the Falls. 

The boy John, in a frenzy to join the party, 
gave his father no rest until he too was permit- 
ted to go with Cooper and the woodsman. 

Landing near Fort Niagara the three tramped 
through the woods along the river. The trap- 
per’s tongue was loosed ; he told Indian legends 
and adventures at every mile of the way. But 
when from afar a deep roar and rush rose above 
the murmurs of the leaves and the voices of 
the birds he turned to his two companions and 
said, “Hush! now God speaks”— and so led 


282 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

them at last through the thick woods to where 
the wonder broke full upon their view. 

What the future novelist felt, who can say ? 
The boy had received the crowning impression, 
the one magnificent memory of his lifetime. 

“We have never read the Leather Stocking 
Tales,” cried the boys. 

“You will when you are older; as a part of 
American literature they will be part of your 
literary education. Probably if you read many 
such books now it would distract your mind from 
history, and biography, and your school studies. 
Dinner comes before dessert, my little men,” said 
Mr. Danforth. 

“ Robert, does your grandmother, or your fa- 
ther or mother, look over all you read, and not 
let you read a lot of books that other people 
do?” 

“Indeed they do,” said Robert. “When I 
get a new book from other folks I go right off 
and show it to them, or just as like as not it 
would turn out to be a kind they don’t allow 
and I ’d have to drop it in the middle.” 

“ That ’s the way with us. Papa Danforth, 
what more is there about old Leather Stock- 
ing?” 

“ My uncle and John M used to go to see 

him sometimes. He was a reverent man, of 


THE FALLING WA TERS. 283 

simple ideas. He used to say that he felt much 
nearer God in the quiet woods than among peo- 
ple. Once the boys came upon him at sunset ; 
he was standing, with his head bared and bent, 
facing the evening sky. They felt that he was 
worshipping and stood still until he turned. He 
said simply, ‘ I was saying my night prayers.’ 
My uncle had just been reading Parnell’s ‘ Her- 
mit,’ and he quoted the lines 

“ ‘ If with such tints God paints light vapors, 

And sheds such glory o’er the sun’s departure, 

What must be He, great Source of all !” 

The old man made him repeat it several times. 
My uncle said he never saw a person more in- 
nocent and unselfish, with a deeper sense of 
the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of 
man, than this old trapper. He liked much to 

be at the family worship at Mr. M 's. John 

M was a mischievous boy, and one day he 

said to the trapper, ‘ Do you expect to go to 
heaven when you die ?’ 

“ ‘ Why not ?’ said the old man calmly. 

“ ‘ Did n’t you ever do anything bad ?’ asked 
John. 

“ ' Aye, plenty of it ; but there was One who 
died for us ; on him I rest it all,’ said the hun- 
ter, and walked away. 

“Now tell us a story about your travels,” 
said Ned. 


284 the house on the bluff. 

“ Have you any story that you never told 
even to us?” asked Ben. 

“ Did I ever tell you about my trip in the 
Himalaya Mountains, the high mountains that 
lie at the north boundary of India? It is not a 
story at all, but merely an account of what I 
saw away up there. I was obliged to go to 
India on some business, when Ben was a baby, 
and as I was detained there during the hot 
weather, waiting to see a man who had gone 
to Siam, I concluded it would be safer to leave 
the hot lowlands and visit a missionary cousin 
of your mother who did his summer work up on 
the highlands. After I had been there two or 
three weeks I thought here was just the time 
to make a trip farther north and higher up these 
magnificent mountains. My missionary friends 
encouraged me to take the trip, and aided mxe 
in my preparations. Thus ten years ago my 
face was set toward the Himalaya Mountains. 
Among the lofty peaks of Northern India lived 
a man whom I had long wished to see : the 
naturalist Wilson. A solitary priest at the 
shrine of Natural Science, this man lives year 
after year among almost inaccessible mountains. 

'‘Over twenty years ago Mr. Wilson arrived 
in India as a trooper in a regiment of dragoons. 
Being taken very ill he was sent to Landour on 
sick leave, and there found surroundings in- 


THE FALLING WATERS. 283 

finitely congenial to him. He was a man who 
could look on his horse and his rifle as absolute 
friends, a seer of woodcraft, an intellectual king- 
dom to himself ; what to other men was dismal 
loneliness was to him welcome rest. So fas- 
cinated was he with his sporting adventures at 
Landour that, having returned to England and 
been discharged from his regiment, this sturdy 
Yorkshireman resolved to return and live in a 
retreat where he had left more than half his 
heart. 

“ To the resolute nothing is an impossibility. 
Wilson worked his passage to Calcutta and, poor 
of purse and light in heart, cheerily shouldered 
his gun and small amount of luggage and 
walked to the Mussouri. A fearless and tireless 
pedestrian, he traversed the immense district be- 
fore him until he had found a spot to his mind, 
and in the great interior range settled near the 
sources of the Ganges and the Jumna, the sacred 
and storied rivers of India. An ardent moun- 
taineer, quarrelling with nobody, driving no 
hard bargains, averse from politics, he soon 
gained the sympathy of the natives, and the 
Rajah of Teree made him a present of a tract 
of land. Here he built a house, as a home for 
himself and a place of storage for his varied 
treasures. Here he dwells, a sort of king, among 
the mountaineers. Far and wide his fame is 


286 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

Spread — the belatee sahiby who befriends the vil- 
lagers, encourages virtue, heals the sick, and 
does all that he can to improve the state of the 
highways. Scarcely one in a million would be 
adapted to this sort of life, or happy in it ; but 
here is a man eminently fitted to his place. 

“ We pity the monks of St. Bernard, who 
live for three months of the year shut out by 
snows from all communication with the surround- 
ing world. But here is a person who for nine 
months out of every twelve is almost buried in 
snow ! 

The monks of St. Bernard are fops, men of 
the world, habitues of society, in comparison 
with this hermit of the Himalayas. They have 
a post once a fortnight; they are a dozen to- 
gether ; they see newspapers and travellers, and 
sitting about huge log fires can sip sweet wine, 
crack their jokes, and tell good stories. This her- 
mit, on the contrary, scarcely sees an Englishman 
from one year ’s end to the next ; news from 
the lower world drifts to him months old. Kings 
die, empires change hands, battles decide the 
destiny of millions, plagues and conflagrations 
sweep over the world, and secure in his snowy 
eyrie he knows nothing of it all ; his bulletin of 
daily news contains the haunts, numbers and 
habits of the goorul and the chickor, and the 
fights with the grim black bear. Our hermit ’s 


THE FALLING WATERS. 287 

home is thirteen thousand feet above the sea 
level, and about six days’ brisk travel from any 
other white man’s abode. 

“ The name Himalaya is Sanscrit, meaning 
the abode of snow. As soon as the traveller 
ascends these mountain slopes he notices a 
marked difference in the natives; they are 
lighter in complexion, sinewy and active in 
frame, and vigorous but ungraceful in motion ; 
a strong contrast to the indolent dwellers on the 
burning plains. 

“ In making my journey I engaged a coolie 
from Mussouri, named Myndar, as a guide ; 
several friends and servants made up our party, 
and well-provisioned and equipped we took our 
way along the mountain roads, across apparent- 
ly impassable gullies, and skirting precipices 
which overhung infinite depths. Our mountain 
fare was not to be depised : we had plenty of the 
favorite chupatties, eggs cooked in an endless 
variety of ways, rice pilau seasoned with red 
pepper, and game when we were fortunate 
enough to get it. 

“Our coolie, Myndar, an experienced Mus- 
souri hunter, shot for us a huge black bear, 
whose steaks and ribs made a famous addition 
to our fare, as in the cold night we gathered 
about our bivouac fire and cooked the meat 
spitted on sticks. We found also several bees’ 


288 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

nests in the rocks, and the honey was of excel- 
lent flavor. Besides the bear the only game we 
got was a ‘ barking deer,’ or kakur. Bear’s 
meat and venison, however, sufficed for our 
eight days’ march, as we climbed higher and 
higher along the Himalayan ridges toward the 
grand cradle of the Jumna. 

“ The last day of our journey the road be- 
came inexpressibly bad ; where there was not a 
hole a foot or two deep there was a ragged rut 
hidden by a tangle of briers and weeds; and 
where there was neither rut nor hole there was 
a vile flint boulder which cut through the boot- 
leather like a knife and unscrupulously barked 
one ’s shins. One of my friends must have 
measured miles with his full length : he seemed 
prostrate on his face for a great part of the 
time ; no devotee making a pilgrimage to the 
birthplace of the god-river, Ganges, could have 
appeared more devout — after the Hindoo fash- 
ion. 

At the great elevation which we had reached 
the weather was bitterly cold ; brambles with 
preternaturally long thorns encumbered our way; 
spiteful twigs, pushed aside as we journeyed 
on, sprang back and hit us little vicious, sting- 
ing cuts. Myndar in tranquil happiness pursued 
his course, never falling, never torn by brier 
nor beaten by bewitched branches, never break- 


THE FALLING WATERS. 289 

ing his shins nor marking, like American heroes, 
his way in blood. The son of the mountains, 
steadfast as that singular young man of Ex- 
celsior notoriety, pursued the even tenor of his 
upward way. 

“ One other affliction attended us : leeches 
infest the Himalayas, and morning, noon or 
night, in the damp shady places, they fix them- 
selves upon the pedestrian’s legs and hold on 
most tenaciously. Amid all these miseries on 
the last night of our trip we reached a peas- 
ant’s hut, in which I made up my mind to lodge 
if by any means I might be free of leeches 
and be comfortably warmed. The homes among 
these mountains cling to the sides of the rock 
like little Swiss chalets ; they are built of wood, 
are small, and not amazingly clean, while the 
furniture is singularly deficient. 

“ In answer to our hail a peasant woman ap- 
peared at the door of the dwelling; a rugged, 
muscular young person, who appeared amply 
able to defend herself and her castle. She was 
certainly no beauty ; her thick lips and broad 
nose partaking of the negro type, but her skin 
was yellow, and her jet black hair was perfectly 
straight. Huge earrings ornamented her ears, 
she wore a striped woollen dress, reaching to 
the knees, below which descended a heavy skirt 
of brown cloth ; wrapped loosely about her per- 

19 


2go THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

son and over her head, something after the style 
of an Indian squaw, she wore a thick blanket 
woven in a herring-bone pattern laid in stripes. 
She gave us no greeting, but planting her feet 
firmly together rested one strong hand on her 
hip, and half closing her sleepy eyes stood still 
as a statue to hear what Myndar might say. Be- 
hind her shoulder peeped out her mother, a 
toothless old crone, while a child crowded into 
a corner of the doorway, gazing curiously ; all 
three were similarly attired. 

“We learned that the men of the family 
were on a pilgrimage. This was the sacred 
twelfth year, when the peasants climb Nanda 
Devi, and all who hold out to fulfil the journey 
keep a religious festival at the highest acces- 
sible point of that peak. Myndar shook his head. 
The women promptly declared their men would 
be of the successful pilgrims ; they had reached 
the cliff twelve years before. Money, potent even 
in the Himalayas, secured me a lodging, and 
an addition of cheese, milk, and smoked bear’s 
meat for our commissary. 

“ At last we were near our goal ; we were at 
the head waters of the Jumna and Wilson’s lodge 
could not be far away ; he was out on a hunting 
tour, and we were hourly expecting to fall in 
with him. I pressed on before my comrades, 
and reached a rocky spur where a broad pano- 


THE FALLING WATERS. 


2gi 

rama stretched before me ; between two low 
ridges rolled the new-born Jumna, broad and 
shallow ; its bed seemed a narrow plain covered 
with boulders rolled from the higher rocks ; 
among and over these the young river flowed 
lazily, gathering strength, depth, and velocity as 
it passed along. Here-away was a line of flash- 
ing light where a narrow branch of the Jumna 
ran deep and clear under the darkling hills; 
yonder with bubble, rush, and foam it rioted 
over rocks, noisy and shallow. Just there I saw 
the man of whom I had come in search. Wear- 
ing huge boots reaching to his knees, he trudged 
along in the water, his hands in the pockets of 
his big beaver coat, his fur cap thrust back on 
his head, a rifle hanging by a strap upon his 
back, and a long pipe in his mouth. He was 
out looking after some traps, for he secures his 
“ specimens ” by snares, pitfalls, hunting, and 
any way which serves him best. 

“ Heartily welcomed, I felt my long tramp 
repaid. Our naturalist took us to his lodge, and 
we speedily made ourselves at home. I can 
scarcely imagine a greater treat than leisure and 
liberty to examine Mr. Wilson’s wonderful col- 
lection of stuffed birds and beasts. His house 
was crowded with his treasures, and he has ac- 
cumulated a handsome fortune by the sale of 
his rare specimens, his trade, through agents in 


2g2 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


Mussouri, extending over all Europe. Never 
was there a more skilful taxidermist. Every wall, 
every corner, was occupied with some stuffed 
creature. Here a big black bear, with two cubs 
at her feet, showed her teeth, and glared in a 
corner, while the cubs rolled on their backs like 
merry kittens. What a comfort to consider that 
the beasts were dead, and filled with innocuous 
hay ! 

“ On a shelf we saw a whole row of partridges. 
The black partridge of the Himalayas is especial- 
ly beautiful : in looks like a black-cock, and has 
dark-red wings mottled with white and gray. 
There were also specimens of the peura, the 
chickor, and the snow and gray partridges. In 
the halls were varieties of deer, all fixed in at- 
titudes of life ; the jungle-fowl and the loongee- 
pheasants stood apparently preening and ruffling 
in the windows : the moonel and the cheer perched 
on the rafters, and flocks of hunyal and koklass 
kept guard over our beds. Little gray goats 
and barking deer seemed leaping at us from 
behind doors and out of cupboards. Among 
them all sat the naturalist, with the happy look 
of a man who has found something to do and 
is doing it; a new Robinson Crusoe, monarch 
of all he surveyed, surrounded by his speechless 
dependents. Our friend is not forgetful of the 
world he has left, but he turns in his conversation 


THE FALLING IV A TEES. 


293 

frequently to the new, strange world in which 
for twenty years he has passed his whole time. 

“No hardy traveller could traverse scenes of 
greater beauty than are to be found among the 
Himalayas ; the vastness and sublimity of these 
ranges are relieved by a wonderful variety of 
striking and beautiful details. The steepness 
and ruggedness of the pathway, the keen cold 
air, the wildness of the whole locality demand 
other than dainty and feeble tourists ; but give 
a man nerve, muscle, and a love of nature in all 
its first simplicity, untouched by art, and his 
trip through the Himalayas will be the glorious 
holiday of his whole lifetime ; more especially if 
in the course of that trip he visits the Hermit 
of the Himalayas.” 

“ Oh, but would n’t I like to travel !” cried 
Robert. 

“ You travelled so much, papa,” said Ben and 
Ned, “that it will be only fair play to let us 
have as good a chance, when we grow older, and 
go round the world too.” 

“ That will depend entirely upon circumstan- 
ces, little lads.” 

“Mr. Danforth, were you ever in Africa?” 
asked Robert. 

“ Yes. I travelled in Africa for two years.” 

“ I wish you ’d tell us an adventure about 


2g4 the house ON THE BLUFF. 

that. Grandma knew Dr. J. Leighton Wilson, the 
famous Congo missionary : he was the one who 
truly first discovered the big gorilla. He taught 
Paul Du Chaillu. He wrote a splendid book 
about Africa. Cousin Eunice has been reading 
it aloud to us. There was a lady here visiting 
us last fall, and she had been a missionary in 
Africa ; Mrs. Ainsley had some friends in Eng- 
land who knew that young missionary, Mr. Laps- 
ley, who went there to the Congo and started a 
mission, and died in two years. Mr. Sheppard, 
the black missionary who went with him, was 
made a member of a great Royal Something so- 
ciety, in England, because he discovered things 
in places where no other missionaries had been. 
Mrs. Ainslie’s friends wrote her all about Mr. 
Lapsley, from England, and we were so sorry 
when he died. I do n’t see why God lets people 
die just when they are doing so much good 
work.” 

“ Remember the text, Robert, ‘ What I do 
thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know here- 
after.’ ” 

“ I ’d rather hear about Africa than any other 
land.” 

“ I will tell you about my African servant 
Bombo. Perhaps it will make you more earnest 
to work for missions when I tell you of the dark- 
ness of 


THE FALLING WA TERS. 


295 


“ BOMBO AND HIS LAND.” 

One who travels for the love of it, who has a 
passion for adventure, will sometime surely be 
lured by the tropic splendors, the burning heats, 
the strange animal and vegetable life and, above 
all, by the mysteries of Africa. I entered Africa 
from Spain, crossing the Straits of Gibraltar and 
landing at Tangier. I had thought of journey- 
ing through the Barbary States, going down 
into Egypt, and ascending the Blue Nile. How- 
ever, I left Abyssinia for a future journey, and 
directed my course toward Senegambia. 

I believe people think that to travel in Africa 
one needs a great retinue, ox teams, dozens of 
guards, and servants, and, in general, all the 
paraphernalia of a state progress. I never made 
set tours in this style anywhere ; and when I 
was in Africa I found I could • journey about, 
going as I pleased in a humble way, making 
myself at home, and having with me only a ser- 
vant or two. It will be seen at once that I did 
not ape Livingstone or Du Chaillu ; I was neither 
geographer nor author. I went to please my- 
self, and my ambition was small. 

At Nun, in Southern Morocco, I came across 
Bombo, a full-blooded negro guide. It seemed 
to me then that I engaged him for my major- 
domo, but now, in the light of past experiences, 


2^6 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

I have come to believe that Bombo engaged me 
as a sort of personal banker. From the hour 
when we concluded our bargain on the public 
square of Nun, Bombo to me was Africa, and 
Africa was — Bombo. There had been a time in 
this person’s history when a string of China 
beads and a paper collar had constituted for him 
entire full dress. That day had gone by. Bom- 
bo wore hat, shirt, trousers and shoes ; he knew 
the meaning of money ; he knew everything, or 
at least he thought he did, which served about 
as well. 

Bombo was able to tell me when to travel 
and when to delay ; what to eat ; where and how 
to go ; what to provide ; and how to. conduct my- 
self. He did all this with the utmost humility 
and self-devotion of language, and an unmitiga- 
ted contempt and suspicion for all other “ brack 
folk and before I was aware he had become 
the immediate disposer of myself and all that 
was mine. 

Under Bombo’s supervision I sailed from 
Nun to Saint Louis, at the mouth of the Sene- 
gal. Bombo was a Senegambian. The people 
of Senegambia may be divided into foreigners, 
as French and English who have come there for 
trade ; native negroes, and a mixed race of 
Moors and negroes. The blacks are generally 
lawless, ignorant, and frightful. Bombo, of 


THE FALLING IV A TERS. 


297 


course, was an exception. Bombo told me that 
he was of the kingdom of Jaloof, which borders 
the Senegal and the sea. His countrymen culti- 
vate a little land ; raise pigs, fowls, and beef cat- 
tle ; fight ferociously, sell their prisoners of war 
for slaves, and are excellently well dressed when 
they have a yard of cotton cloth wrapped about 
their loins. At St. Louis we saw many families 
of the mixed race. These people are handsome 
and agreeable, light-skinned, tidy, intelligent, 
and, for the tropics, industrious. 

I desired to ascend the Senegal, and while 
we were waiting for boats, rowers and outfit I 
formed a little camp on the north shore of the 
river some ten miles from its mouth. My com- 
rades were a Frenchman who was travelling for 
amusement, an English trader, Bombo, and 
three other servants. Probably this region be- 
tween the Senegal and the Sahara is the hottest 
place of its latitude ever yet entered by man. 
The burning winds of the desert seem to scorch 
like the mid-day sun ; neither sea nor river ap- 
pears to have coolness or refreshment. 

In the lazy currents of the creeks lie hideous 
alligators, while the boa wraps its huge length 
about the trees that rise above the marshes. 
Down to the Senegal comes the hippopotamus 
to lave and- wade ; and him the lion follows, 
ready for a fight. 


2g8 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

Camp life amid such surroundings was cer- 
tainly somewhat exciting. With our fires blaz- 
ing to keep away wild beasts, our hammocks 
slung on carefully inspected trees, and our guns 
and rifles loaded and ready to hand, we were 
wont to lie in the evenings, talking of our homes, 
or listening to Bombo’s incessant tongue. His 
chief forte was extolling his country — J aloof. 
There was not, in his estimation, such another 
land under the sun. Jaloof had camels in its 
deserts ; elephants could be killed hy ihe million. 
When our trader demurred to this statement, 
Bombo vowed they could at least be killed by 
the dozen yearly. Resinous gums dropped from 
the trees; Bombo would make nothing of col- 
lecting a few thousand pounds of caoutchouc ; 
hemp was to be had for the raising, and indigo 
without raising. The swamps were full of rice, 
and Bombo wanted to know if in England we 
could get cassia and cardamoms, as they could 
in glorious Senegambia. When in this vaunting 
mood Bombo frequently relieved his feelings by 
condemning the mixed races of Senegambia. 
His virtuous indignation rose high over the 
thought of their keeping slaves. 

“But, Bombo,” I ventured to suggest, “you 
Jaloof men sell slaves ; is that not just as bad ?” 
Bombo thought not. Jaloof s sold slaves because 
they wanted money, and he seemed to think that 


THE FALLING WATERS. 


29Q 

this virtuous end sanctified the human trade. 
Besides, Jaloofs only sold prisoners of war; if 
men did not want to be sold, why did they fight 
the all-conquering Jaloofs? 

Bombo had lived among missionaries long 
enough to think he knew something about Bibli- 
cal matters. Judge of our feelings when he ve- 
hemently insisted that our venerable first parent, 
Adam, was a black man. 

Course he brack,” said Bombo stiffly. 

“ How comes it, then, Bombo, that so many 
of his children are white ?” 

“ Too much water,” said Bombo, who had a 
hearty aversion to that fluid. “ Velly much wa- 
ter fade ’em all out.” 

What then ! We with our Saxon pride of 
race ; we of light skins and locks and blue eyes, 
with features we had privately esteemed, were 
only Bombo and his brothers faded by genera- 
tions of inconsiderate use of cold water ! Misin- 
terpreting our silence, Bombo proceeded to in- 
form us that, however wise men njight differ, 
Eden had undoubtedly been in Senegambia, 
somewhere near Jaloof territory. Hence had 
gone out the black tribes who clung to Africa, 
avoided water, and retained undiminished the 
characteristics of their progenitor. 

‘"Adam,” said Bombo, '‘velly mad at him 
boys when dey all fade out ; shook ’um so hard 


300 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


dere teef drop out when dey grow old. Adam’s 
teef nebber drop out, nor brack men’s.” 

Here was a new tradition of the race. To 
increase our consternation, Bombo next informed 
us that Solomon was also a black man ; as black 
as himself. Solomon had cleared the great des- 
ert of Afrites, having driven them before his 
chariot, wherein sat the Queen of Sheba ; the 
Afrites fled like a flock of chickens, and all tum- 
bled into the ocean near Cape Blanco. 

After this we never dared to mention the 
early-world heroes before Bombo, fearing to be 
deprived of all comfort in their memories. 

After many wearisome delays we were pre- 
pared to make, as far as might be, the ascent of 
the river. The season had been favorable, and 
there was a fair stage of water. Steamboats run 
on the Senegal from St. Louis to Medina when 
the water is high enough. We preferred the 
liberty and leisure of our canoe excursion. 

We rested a few days at Bakel, and several 
more at Medina. Above Medina navigation is 
difficult ; there are many portages, where falls 
and rapids and huge rocks towering out of the 
bed of the stream obstruct the passage. Many 
miles of the way could only be accomplished by 
having the men clamber along the shore, towing 
the boats with a line. 

The scenery of the Upper Senegal is grand 


THE FALLING WA TERS. 


JOT 


and beautiful in the extreme. From Medina to 
Banganoura, and thenoe to Gouina, was one 
splendid panorama of boiling rapids, dense for- 
ests, stately trees, strange cliffs and peaks, and 
spray-veiled cataracts. The Falls of F^lon were 
a scene to enrich a lifetime. The height of the 
fall is not great, but it stretches in an even line 
the whole width of the broad, shallow river; 
masses of tropic verdure seem piled to the sky 
on every hand, and beyond, two strange peaks 
lift up like towers fashioned by giants in some 
olden day. They are unique, like only to each 
other ; square-cut at the summit, furnished with 
minarets as graceful as Moorish fancy ever 
wrought in marble ; green, with palm and cas- 
sia and oak and fig, until the ascending forest 
changes into the purple of distance, and the pur- 
ple shades into a deep blue against a primrose 
sky. 

We still ascended the river toward Mausolah. 
The people were very busy digging groundnuts, 
of which here you can buy two bushels for a 
yard of common longcloth. When we varied 
our expedition by rambles along shore gazelles 
and antelopes bounded by us ; hares and par- 
tridges were to be had for the shooting ; mon- 
keys mocked us from every tree, and flocks of 
paroquets were as tame as crows in the north. 

At last we reached the cataracts of the Gou- 


302 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

ina. Here the river is nearly seventeen hun- 
dred feet wide, and as the water was now at its 
lowest the height of the fall was sixty feet. 
We tarried a fortnight at Gouina, exploring the 
country and considering its products and resour- 
ces. The choice tree, both of Eastern and 
Western Africa, is the Wine Palm. Its smooth, 
straight column shoots up into the air and is 
crowned with those magnificent clusters of 
leaves of which each one is a fountain holding 
the liquid the African toper prizes above his 
chief joy. When I first stood before one of 
these trees my grand wonder was how the fluid 
of the leaves could be obtained. Bombo readily 
undertook to explain it practically. A group of 
negroes who had been getting wine lay resting 
a few rods from us. Bombo went to them, and 
presently returned with a gourd bottle slung to 
a strap of antelope skin and a stiff thick rope 
made of palm fibres. 

By aid of this rope the triumphant Bombo 
walked up the erect palm about as easily as a fly 
walks up the wall of a room. The rascal was 
certainly agile, and was dressed as lightly as 
possible, having laid aside the European gar- 
ments wherein he delighted and arrayed him- 
self only in a braided palm cap and a cotton 
breech-cloth. He tied the rope in a ring passed 
about the tree trunk and his own waist, giving 


THE FALLING WA TERS. 


303 

himself room to lean back and brace himself 
against it. He seized the rope with a hand on 
either side, and grinning his triumph at my 
astonishment up he went in a series of jerks. 
Having reached the leaves he tapped them sci- 
entifically, and filled his bottle with the abun- 
dant juice which flows from the under surface. 
This, fermented, becomes a vinous drink capa- 
ble of making Bombo and his brothers both 
mad and merry. 

A less dangerous product of this region is 
millet, of which great crops are raised with little 
difficulty, and which furnishes the chief living 
of the people. The women grind the millet in 
stone jars or urns, by pounding the grain with 
a heavy club. 

Nature has been prodigal of gifts in this 
country. Iron is everywhere, fish is plentiful, 
game abounds ; gold is also here, where is no 
hand of man to gather its precious grains. The 
mountains of Maka, in shadowy defiles, in pur- 
ple heights, and in musical watercourses, are 
like childhood’s dream of fairy-land. 

Yet, in spite of all this wealth and beauty, 
Bombo and his brothers are given only to war 
and plunder. Fierce, lazy, beggarly, half naked, 
they are the blots on the fair face of nature, in- 
stead of the highest expression of her perfection. 

What shall we do for Bombo and his broth- 


304 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


ers, living in such a beauteous and bountiful 
land, yet living like the wild beasts which make 
their lair in the jungles ? 

This is a region seldom visited, a terra incog- 
nita ; all the more alluring on that account. In 
1859 Monsieur Pascal went as far as Bafoulab^, 
and later Lieutenant Mage reached Foukhara. 
M. Quentin has also been here, making topogra- 
phical surveys. My own humble party had no 
grand designs in view ; we went as far as we 
could, and were sorry not to go farther. 

The river had from the dryness and extreme 
heat become very low ; fevers were prevalent, 
and a Senegal fever is something to be wary of. 
Bombo said we had better get back toward St. 
Louis. If we went to the southern part of Jaloof 
land Bombo believed he could show us several 
things worth seeing. Now the fact is Jallon is 
for the most part an uninhabited wilderness; 
granite and volcanic rocks abound, the coast is 
low, dreary, and sandy, yet, led by our evil ge- 
nius in the person of Bombo, after we returned 
to St. Louis we struck southward, and found our 
tents set up one night upon the shore, in the 
midst of the very solemnity of desolation. A 
barren sky stooped downward to a barren sea, 
and the barren land stretched behind us in hope- 
less distances. It was as if we had gone, living, 
to some undiscovered region within the shadow 


THE FALLING WATERS, 


SOS 

of death. Out of the blackness and hush of the 
night broke now and then a wild, mournful, pro- 
longed cry— the howl of hyenas. I walked a few 
rods seaward : the waters lapped with a dull 
monotone on the beach. I paced back beyond 
the circle of our fire-gleaming and in the gray 
twilight saw four strange tall figures, swinging 
soundless by, as if in mid-air. They were four 
belated camels, and their riders brethren of our 
Bombo. They added themselves to our group, 
and a strange picture we made. The three black 
tents were pitched near together. The mules 
and horses were tethered close by. The Euro- 
peans sat waiting for their supper, which the 
seven or eight black Bombos were preparing at 
the fire. The red gleam bronzed the swarthy 
faces and shone on the white teeth and the roll- 
ing eyes ; the camels knelt between the tent and 
the sea, and sociably tried to poke their noses 
under the curtains. 

Usually black men together are noisy, either 
as garrulous or quarrelsome; but these were 
quiet as ghosts. The spell of that wilderness of 
Jallon was on them, and oppressed even their 
untutored, childish spirits. When the supper 
was over, and the others had lain down to sleep, 
Bombo came and sat near me as I held my watch 
until midnight. He tried to encourage himself 
a little by boasting of the ivory, wax, and gums 


20 


jo6 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

which Senegambia exported, and by details of 
the prowess of the Jaloofs in battle ; then he en- 
deavored to keep up his spirits by hints of the 
adventures and sights awaiting us on the river 
Gambia, but all in vain ; Bombo was blue, and 
his talk would drift off to spectres and warn- 
ings, to unburied skeletons that paced the des- 
ert, where they died, during all these doleful 
nights. 

“ What is the matter with you, Bombo T I 
asked. 

Bombo shook his head. Then he informed 
me that to-morrow would be new moon, and be- 
fore the moon finished her course again she 
would “ eat men," maybe even eat the bragging 
Bombo. 

“ Why, Bombo," I said, you used to be bold- 
er than this ; you have been in many wars, and 
say you have killed lions and elephants : what 
now ?" 

Bombo groaned ; lions and elephants and 
Katoba and Kadoo men were a mere nothing. 
Bombo could swallow them at a mouthful when 
his heart was great ; but the moon was quite an- 
other matter : the moon eats men every month, 
and could swallow this Bombo if she chose. 

However, next morning, Bombo was out in 
all his glory again. Sunshine chased aw^ay his 
melancholy, and spear in fiand he went strutting 


. THE FALLING WATERS. 


307 


and bragging about, willing to lead us to the 
Gambia, or the world’s end, if we wished to go 
so far. 

“ That is fine, fine !” cried Robert. 

How can any grown up person be so dread- 
fully ignorant and think such silly things as 
Bombo,” said Ned. 

'‘Easily enough,” said Mr. Danforth, “if 
neither he nor his ancestors have ever been 
taught anything. We civilized Christian people 
are the ones to blame for the ignorance and 
degradation of Bombo.” 

“ I wish,” said Robert, “that we had a lot of 
money — six millions, twenty millions — to build 
schools and churches and work-shops, and lay 
out farms, and all that, all over Africa ; and in 
a little while make it just as nice and sensible 
as — as our kind of countries.” 

“ The promise has been given, for all lands, 
that in the beautiful ages yet to come ‘the wilder- 
ness and the solitary place shall be glad for 
them — and the desert shall rejoice and blossom 
as the rose. It shall blossom abundantly, and 
rejoice, even with joy and singing : the glory of 
Lebanon shall be given unto it, the excellency 
of Carmel and Sharon ; they shall see the glory 
of God, the excellency of our God,’ ” said Mr. 
Danforth. 


So8 THE HOUSE Ok THE BLUFF. 

“ It will be grand when all that conies true/’ 
said Ben. 

“ You can all do your share to hasten the 
grand time, my lads. And now I think I have 
done the fair thing by you, and told my part of 
the tales, so you ought to unlock this door and 
let me out.” 

‘‘We are ever and ever so much obliged ; we 
have had a delightful afternoon listening to 
you,” said Cicely. 

“ Wish it was just beginning, instead of just 
ended,” .said Robert, but he unlocked the door 
and away they all scattered. 


BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS. 


309 


CHAPTER XII. 

BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS. 

“ In the elder days of art 

Builders wrought with patient care 
Each minute and hidden part, 

For the gods see everywhere.” 

Sunday morning was a marvel of beauty : 
the river was rapidly falling, the roads were 
dry. What with Madame’s carriage, Mr. Dan- 
forth’s surrey, the saddle-horses and the spring 
wagon, every one was provided with means for 
going to church at Tipton. Mr. Tracy had been 
invited to preach there, and Mr. White was to 
address the Sunday-school. The procession 
started early from Madame’s house ; the boys 
with Peter and Ezra in the spring wagon. There 
was much discussion among the boys whether 
Mr. Tracy or Mr. White would be the more in- 
teresting speaker ; also, whether there would be 
any announcements given about the devasta- 
tations of the flood, and about the people who 
needed help. “ I know,” said Robert, “ that 
grandma will just fairly send out wagon loads 
of things ; she always does : and yesterday I saw 


310 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

them folding and sorting the things that have 
been sewed these days, and you never saw such 
a pile in your life — clothes, quilts, and sheets, 
and towels, sunbonnets, hoods— my ! just packs !” 

“ My papa will hand out lots of money for 
the sufferers ; he always does,” remarked Ned, 
determined not to let all the boasting be on 
Robert’s side. 

“Alec, why don’t you say something?” cried 
Ben. 

“ I hae na onything to say, nor onything 
to gie,” replied Alec. “ Wasna I pu’ed oot o’ 
yon water, by Master Perkins here, wi’ nae- 
thing but an old suit o’ claes upo’ me ? Whiles 
ithers ha’ lost in this awfu flood I hae foun’ ; 
an’ oot o’ the waters the guid Lord gied me 
hame an’ friends. Mrs. Ainslie says on Wed- 
nesday I maun begin school wi’ Mr. Vance, 
an’ when she gaes hame to Scotian’, I ’m gaen 
wi’ her; an’ I will be colleged there in Edin- 
borough town. Ah, sirs, that will be gran’ !” 

“ And what will you do after college ?” asked 
Ben. 

“Gif the Lord will but let me climb the 
poopit stairs I ’ll ask no mair. I’ d rather be a 
minister nor a king,” said Alec eagerly. 

“Well, now, I don’t think I want to be a 
minister,” said Ned. “ I ’d rather be a doctor, 
like that Duncan who did the errand for God.” 


BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS. 31 1 

“ I would n’t,” said Ben. “ I’m going to be busi- 
ness, like my papa. What will you be, Robert.” 

“ Do n’t know,” said Robert. “ I change my 
mind pretty nearly every day ; only I mean to 
be something with a lot of go in it.” 

It does n’t matter so much what you do 
provided it is honest and done honestly, as if 
God marked all the ins and outs of it,” said 
Ezra. 

“ Aye. That is what makes good fair work.” 
said Peter. 

On the homeward road the discussion was of 
the announcements of help needed that had 
been read in the church. 

“ I expect, Ezra,” said Robert, “ that grand- 
ma will send you off early to-morrow with this 
wagon loaded, and Cousin Eunice with you to 
distribute, and you’ll go to those folks that 
were drowned out of everything up here at 
Peak’s Landing.” 

I reckon,” said Ezra. 

“ Wish we boys could go along,” suggested 
Robert. 

“ Well, you can’t,” replied Ezra with great 
decision. 

“ Look here ! what do you think !” cried 
Ned. “ I heard Cicely Lyman begging her 
mother to go and get that little girl baby that 
was the only one saved from a house — all her 


312 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


folks dead : one. the minister said was at Squire 
Maybank’s waiting for adopting. Mrs. Lyman 
said she and Cicely would go to-morrow and see 
the child, and maybe they would take it. I say 
they ought ; they have plenty of money, and a 
nice home, and no child but Cicely. Why did n't 
she say ‘ yes ’ right straight off, I wonder !” 

“Because people that intend to do things 
right, and to stick to what they begin, take time 
to think about it first. Slow and sure. Think 
and stick. That's it," said Ezra, who never 
missed an opportunity to get in some “ advise- 
ment," as he called it, to the boys. 

At dinner the care of this child for adoption 
was brought up, and a discussion opened among 
the grown people to which the juniors listened 
decorously, if without absorbing interest. 

Cicely had said, “ Of course the worst thing 
that can happen to a child is to lose its parents." 

“Not always," said Mr. Vance. 

“ Oh-o-o-o !" said Robert in a shocked tone. 

Mr. Vance continued, addressing his remarks 
to the hostess : 

“ Whatever may be the theory that the well- 
being of the child is of primary importance to 
the parents, and by them best conserved, practi- 
cally it is shown that a large number of parents 
are totally indifferent to the real interests of 
their children. Thousands of illiterate parents 


BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS. jij 

are even resentful of efforts to raise their chil- 
dren to a higher educational level. A law 
enacted in Boston against infant street venders 
aroused strong opposition. At that time Bea- 
con, Washington and Tremont Streets and the 
Common were haunted by half a dozen chil- 
dren, from five to thirteen years of age, selling 
matches, pencils, sponges. A lady clothed one 
of these urchins, but the next snowy night 
found him in his former rags, and Questioning 
elicited the information that ‘ Pop said 'e sold 
more in ole does.’ 

‘‘ These children were found to belong to 
one family, and a six o’clock visit to the parents 
discovered them feasting on porterhouse steak. 
Mocha coffee, cream bread, gilt-edge butter and 
olives, while the children peddled in the storm. 
The man, a skilled brass- worker, could earn $25 
a week, but did nothing, having discovered that 
his brood earned more on the street corners. 
The records of crippled and idiot children, and 
the slaughter of the innocents in factories and 
mills, a thousand-fold justify the most stringent 
legislation concerning child-labor. In an equally 
imperative fashion the infant citizen demands 
the interference of the parenthood of the State, 
that is, in regard to the correction or ameliora- 
tion of congenital infirmities and deformities.” 

“You are right,” said Mr. Danforth, “and 


314 the house on THE BLUFF. 

when I go back to the State Senate I have made 
up my mind to work hard for laws to cover 
exactly these points. My attention was only 
called to it lately, but there is abundant need 
for legislation.” 

“ I see a great amount of such need,” said 
Mr. White, “ travelling the country as I do as a 
colporter. I could give you several instances. 
Instances may be more potent than arguments. 
In New Jersey I knew of a farmer of small 
means who had two daughters and a son born 
club-footed. The doctor told him that the chil- 
dren should be early taken to the city hospital 
for surgical remedy of the defect. The reply 
was, he ‘ had n’t no money to spend on ’em ;’ 
‘ reckoned they could get on as they was made ;’ 
‘hadn’t no time to go, and couldn’t spare his 
woman from the work.’ Consequently the State 
has a crippled man, mentally as well as bodily 
injured by his defect, and two women shut out 
from marriage and debarred from any means of 
support but the needle. Another case of club- 
foot had similar event because a weak-minded 
mother ‘ could n’t have the poor baby hurt.’ ” 

“ I shall be thankful to you, Mr. White,” said 
Mr. Danforth, “ if you can give me more such 
instances. I shall embody them in a speech 
which I am preparing.” 

Said Mr. White : 


BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS. j/j 

“ I know in Missouri is a girl with very bad 
hare-lip. A Kansas City surgeon has offered 
to be responsible for a cure ; a surgeon nearer 
home proposed to perform the operation freely 
and pay for the nursing ; a leading St. Louis 
surgeon agreed to attend to the cure if I could 
send the child to him. I offered to provide out- 
fit and all expenses. The replies to all these 
offers ran thus : ‘ ’T ain’t much matter.’ ‘ We ’re 
us ’t to it.’ ‘ Need her to ’tend baby.’ ‘ Might 
hurt her.’ ‘ Don’t b’lieve in it.’ ‘ Wont let her 
go ’less my outfit an’ board ’s paid to go too ’ 
(this from the mother). ‘ Th’ old woman sha’ n’t 
get a trip that way ’less I do’ (this from the 
father). Meanwhile the child, who is bright 
and keenly sensitive, lives a life of agony, hid- 
ing from sight, crouching about with a rag or 
apron over her marred face. Near by is a boy 
with a defect in one eye which might be cured, 
only his parents say they ‘ dread it so.’ ‘ Seems 
cruel.’ ‘Scarcely notice it any more.’ Mean- 
while here is a man to be lifelong hindered by 
this blemish.” 

“ You remember,” said Mr. Vance, “ the story 
Miss Eunice told us about Tip and Trie, the 
deaf mutes?” 

“Yes; compulsory education for the deaf 
and dumb is imperatively demanded. In some 
States there is a law that all cases shall be re- 


ji6 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 

ported to the county clerk, and where the 
parents are unable to send the child to the State 
institution the township or county shall assume 
the expense. But there is no law to compel the 
parents to educate the mute child. I know of a 
case where three mutes in one family were re- 
fused the benefits of a free education, including 
clothing, because the children were needed to 
work at home. ^ No sense in teaching dum- 
mies.’ ‘ They did n’t mind it.’ ' Leave ’em as 
the Lord made ’em,’ etc. One instance was that 
of a lad of eighteen, who had been deprived of 
instruction, but hearing of the State institution 
for mutes walked barefoot and penniless for 
sixty miles to pray for that aid which the State 
provided but did not compel his parents to 
accept in his behalf.” 

The case of the Child and the State,” said 
Mr. Danforth, “ is of primary importance. How 
far should the state compel education and bodily 
care ?” 

“We will discuss this further in the library,” 
said Madame Baron ; “ our little people were at 
long services this morning, and they look tired.” 

Robert ran up to his grandmother and patted 
her cheek, “You always think of what is nice,” 
he whispered. 

As they rose from the table Cousin Eunice 
proposed that the children who wished to hear 


BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS. 317 

a Story or two should go with her to the attic. 
“ It is pleasant up there, and you can sit and 
lie about at your ease,” she said, “ and listen and 
talk as you like. Take along a basket of apples 
and that dish of oranges, and you shall have a 
* Free and Easy.’ ” Cicely, the four boys. Belle 
Danforth and Eunice were soon in the big airy 
attic, fragrant with all manner of dried herbs 
hanging from the beams. 

‘‘What is the first story. Cousin Eunice?” 
cried Robert. 

“ jean’s personal interest society.” 

What do you do when you want to start a 
society?” said Jean to her family, assembled at 
breakfast. 

Franklin, who was sixteen years old and 
knew everything, promptly responded, *‘You 
get them together and vote that you ’ll start a 
society. Then you elect a president, vice pre- 
sident, secretary and treasurer, and you get up 
a constitution. After that you have meetings, 
and if there is any work to do you do it.” 

“I ’ve been reading about the Personal In- 
terest Society in Philadelphia, and how much 
good it has done, and I thought I ’d like to start 
one here,” said Jean. 

There is another way to start a society.” 
said her mother. “ It is for a person who sees 


3i8 the house on THE BLUFF, 

the need of a certain work being done to go 
quietly to work and do as much of it as possible. 
Then some second person is interested and 
drawn into the work, and then a third, and as 
the work moves on, increases, brings good re- 
sults, the number of workers is found to warrant 
the organization of a society. If you feel drawn 
to this personal interest work, why not select 
some needy family and begin? Start, and a 
way will open before you.” 

'‘You see,” said Jean, flushing, “I’d like to 
do it, but should not know how to begin.” 

“ That objection would meet you from every 
one of the members of the proposed society 
when you first called them together,” said her 
father. “ If you had wrought out the how prob- 
lem first for yourself, as your mother proposes, 
then you could give them at least one example 
of a plan of work.” 

“ I ’ll tell you how to do it,” said Franklin. 
“ Pick out a family without knowing whether in 
their own opinion they need or desire help. Put 
on your best bib and tucker, flowers, feathers 
and furbelows, rush in on them, find fault with 
their dirt, disorder, noise and lack of the aesthet- 
ic. Give them soup tickets and coal orders, and 
if the family is all boys, send them, from the 
Dorcas society, a big bundle of girls* aprons and 
skirts.” 


BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS. jig 

“Oh don’t you think you’re funny!” said 
Eliza, seeing that Jean looked miserable. 

“ Jean would not make such mistakes as that,” 
said the mother, “because she has the divine 
gift of sympathy ; and such hearts are able to 
put themselves in other people’s places and fulfil 
the rule, ‘ Do unto others as you would that they 
should do to you.’ ” 

“ I believe,” said the wise Franklin, “ that all 
these societies only make paupers. There are 
societies for giving people food, clothes, doctor- 
ing, nursing, teaching, books, vacations, fresh 
air — every thing that folks want ; and so people 
learn to lie back and be pauperized. I do n’t be- 
lieve in it.” 

“The Personal Interest Society is not to 
make paupers, but to give people friends,” cried 
Jean. “ To bring folks together that have been 
separated by belonging to different classes and 
to help people to help themselves. It finds 
work for folks, and lifts them to their feet, 
and then leaves them to take care of them- 
selves.” 

“I think, Jean,” said her father, “that you 
know all that is necessary to the starting of a 
personal interest society of one member. I be- 
lieve you will do good, and as your work grows 
you can bring some one else into it. Maybe 
you will find some forlorn old fellow for me to 


320 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


take a personal interest in. If you are drawn 
to this work, begin it.” 

“ Only I do n’t know how, nor where,” sighed 
Jean. 

“ Keep your eyes and ears open, and hasten 
slowly,” said her mother. 

“And maybe you can find me some little 
girl to take an interest in, and make a doll for, 
and mend up my playthings for, and have here 
for a Saturday visit,” said Eliza. 

“ Look at the clock,” said the mother, and 
with a simultaneous dash Franklin, Jean and 
Eliza were after hats and school satchels. 

The prim, orderly street between home and 
the high school did not afford suggestions in the 
personal interest way, Jean thought, except that 
as she passed a window, in which for weeks a 
pale, thin lady had been sitting, each morning, 
in an invalid’s chair, she saw the lady looking 
so earnestly at her that, before she thought, she 
bowed as to a friend, and the lady looked 
pleased. 

The last hour of the school session had come 
when Jean, looking up from her algebra, saw at 
the blackboard a thin, freckled, plain girl whom 
she did not know. She had noticed her some- 
times as evidently the poorest girl in the school, 
very timid and lonely ; no one seemed to know 
her. Jean remarked to herself how very shab- 


BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS. 321 

by and scant her clothing was and how sad and 
anxious her face. As Jean looked at her the girl 
despairingly laid down her chalk. “ I can’t do 
this problem,” she said. 

‘‘ This is the second day, and I explained it 
all to you carefully yesterday,” said the teacher 
irritably. 

''I know you did, but— some way— I could 
not see into it” 

Come prepared to-morrow,” said the teacher 
sharply. 

The girl returned to her desk, and with a 
hopeless face gazed at the arithmetical problems 
which were to her so dark. 

Jean felt sorry for her; she herself found 
mathematics so easy. Suddenly the thought 
came, “ Maybe here is my personal interest 
work !” After school Jean slipped away from 
her chosen friends ; she was intent on following 
the strange girl. Already she was almost out of 
sight — she always was in such a hurry ! Mak- 
ing the best effort she could Jean was only able 
to keep the girl in sight through streets grow- 
ing shabbier and shabbier, and finally lose her 
in the door of a house at the corner. 

“She lives on the first floor ; there are sever- 
al families in the house,” said Jean to herself. 

Next morning she packed double lunch, 

nicer than common, for recess, started early, and 
21 


322 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

went round by the No Thoroughfare. When 
she knocked where her schoolmate had disap- 
peared the girl herself open the door. 

“ I was passing and stopped to walk to school 
with you,” said Jean cheerfully. “I do n’t like 
to walk alone.” 

I ’m not quite ready,” hesitated the girl. 

“ Go right on, Ann,” said a voice from with- 
in. 

Jean turned about and was very much inter- 
ested in some children across the street until 
Ann came forth. 

“ I saw you had trouble with No. 187,” said 
Jean. “ It is hard ; but here I have it worked 
out for you, and I think I can explain it so that 
you will see it clearly. Mathematics is very easy 
to me, but I do have a terrible time with history 
and rhetoric.” 

“It is the mathematical part that hinders 
me,” said Ann, “ and I ’m so sorry for it. It 
seems as if I must go right on, so that some time 
I may be able to teach. Mother tries so hard 
to keep me in school ! Father is dead, and there 
are three quite small children, and I ought to 
get on to a point where I can earn my living 
and part of theirs.” 

“ Of course you will — splendidly,” cried Jean. 
“Here, let us sit down on this bench and I 
will be professor of mathematics. I always 


BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS, 323 

did think Miss Bliss had a very blind way of 
explaining things. There ’s time before school 
to get at the root of this matter.” 

“ Why, you ’ve made it plain as daylight !” 
cried Ann a little later. 

I ’ll help you every day, if you need it,” 
said Jean, and you ’ll pay me back by showing 
me how to be interested in that painful history ; 
won’t you?” 

At recess Jean invited Ann to share her 
lunch. “ I ’ve got quite a spread for to-day, and 
you just make that villain, Magna Charta, clear 
to me.” 

Only two or three days were needed to make 
these girls great friends ; days of walking to 
school together and sharing lunch and lessons ; 
days in which Jean persistently took the initia- 
tive with her shabby schoolmate. Jean learned 
that Ann’s mother took in sewing and could 
make dresses, but was a stranger in the town, 
out of work, and almost in despair. 

Then Jean’s mother took a personal interest ; 
visited Ann’s mother, and asked her to make 
Eliza two dresses. And Eliza took a personal 
interest and asked Ann’s little sister to spend 
Saturday with her, and gave her a lapful of 
toys. 

Jean then boldly cut off her best bunch of 
sacred lilies and walked in with them to call 


324 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 


Upon the pale sick lady, to whom she had con- 
tinued to bow twice daily, and having made a 
little call and given the flowers she bravely told 
her story of personal interest and Ann’s mother. 

“ Tell her to come here and fit me for a wrap- 
per,” said the lady ; “ you and I will go partners 
in this personal interest. And did you know you 
have been taking personal interest in me, and 
have done me real good ?” 

Why,” said Jean, “ I only supposed personal 
interest was for poor folks.” 

“We ’re all poor in something,” said the 
lady. 

Ann triumphed over mathematics ; she had a 
new gown and a cheery face. In March she told 
Jean that her mother had been obliged to hire 
an apprentice, she had so much work ; and if all 
went on prosperously in the fall they could move 
to a nicer house and keep two or three assist- 
ants. 

. “ And the girl mother hired is one I took 
personal interest in from seeing her in the gro- 
cer’s store looking so worried. She has an old 
sick mother to take care of, and she is so happy 
to get work near her room.” 

“ Why, our personal interest society has seven 
or eight members already,” cried Jean : “all 
five at our house, and my sick lady, and you, and 
your mother !” 


BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS. 

** Is that all ?” asked Cicely. 

“It is a nice story,” said Ned, “but please 
tell us a real boys’ story now. Miss Eunice.” 

“ Yes, do. This is our last Sunday afternoon 
here,” urged Ben ; “ perhaps the last any after- 
noon, for I heard papa and mamma speak of go- 
ing home to-morrow.” 

“One more, please. Cousin Eunice,” cried 
Robert, settling himself on a big buffalo robe. 

“ Very good,” said Miss Eunice. “ Here is a 
boys’ story : 

“A TEXT AT THE RIGHT TIME.” 

Each morning when Fred Allston left the 
breakfast table he went around to his mother’s 
place to bid her good-by before he started for 
school. When he did so Mrs. Allston always 
handed him a card. The card had a verse of 
Scripture written upon it : a text for the day. 
Mrs. Allston required no promise that Fred 
would remember or act upon this verse, or even 
read it. Having been brought up in the habit 
of courtesy he always did read it and say, 
“Thank you, mother.” 

True, Fred sometimes looked at the verse in 
such haste that he forgot it by the time it was 
well in his pocket; or he read it and lost all 
memory of it in the crowding of daily lessons ; 
perhaps he thought of it on the way to school 


326 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

and determined to bear it in mind and practise 
it, and then — it slipped out of his head entirely. 
Sometimes it came into his thoughts again and 
again, gave him light in doubt, showed him his 
way in emergency, helped him to resist tempta- 
tion, or endure trial manfully : the text in his 
pocket thus made good to him the parable of 
the sower and the seed. 

When a text had been thus helpful Fred 
turned up the corner of the card. At night he 
put the day’s card in a box. By the end of the 
year he had three hundred and sixty-five cards. 
Then he selected the ones with the bent corners 
and glued them in a scrap-book. The others 
his mother took back to distribute at the mis- 
sion-school or tied them with a ribbon and 
dropped them into the home-missionary box of 
the church ; or Fred put the nice square cards, 
so clearly written, into a fancy box and sent 
them to some “ shut-in ” for a New Year’s greet- 
ing. 

“Thank you, mother,” said Fred this par- 
ticular morning as he hastily read his card — 
“ Co-workers together with God.” 

“ Nothing for me in that, surely,” he said to 
himself, as he took down his cap and wslung his 
book-strap over his shoulder. 

“ Meant for preachers and such folks,” he 
mused as he ran down the steps. “ God does n’t 


BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS. 327 

need any help ; he is able to do anything." 
This, as he rattled up the street. “My help 
would not be any good : I ’m not enough for 
myself. Algebra gets the best of me, and 
‘ Caesar ’ floors me." Then he slid into his desk, 
and picking up his general history went to 
studying industriously. 

“Say, Fred and Joe," said Noah Lee at the 
noon hour, “ over across the field by the hedge 
is a woodchuck’s hole. Old Pete Wing gave me 
some medicine to put on a crust and lay by the 
hole, and if you watch and keep quiet the wood- 
chuck is sure to come out to the bait. Let ’s go 
try it." 

“ Do n’t want to catch him ; do you ?’’ said 
Fred. 

“ Thought I ’d bring him here for Prof. 
North to talk about in the zoology class, and 
let him go back to-morrow ; do n’t believe mo- 
ther will let me keep him." 

“ He would n’t be a nice pet," said Fred. 

“Wouldn’t enjoy himself shut up," added 
Joe. 

Then the three ran across the field, found 
the hole, laid the bait, and sat down to await 
Mr. Woodchuck in perfect silence. 

Some one came up the road. 

Noah peeped through the hedge. “ There ’s 
that big, slow Bill Burt clumping along, making 


328 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 

noise enough to scare everything within ten 
miles.” 

“Hell want to stop and talk,” said Fred. 
“ Queer fellow ; always looks at you as if he 
was wishing for something.” 

“ Keep quiet and he wont see us,” said Joe. 

Bill Burt came stolidly along ; a thorn with 
low-growing branches was near the place where 
the boys were in hiding on the other side of the 
hedge. Between the thorn and the hedge was 
a little sheltered nook. Bill stepped into the 
green closet. 

“Come to catch the woodchuck himself,” 
said Noah in his own mind. 

But no. Bill dropped his cap on the ground, 
threw himself down with his hands over his 
face, and made a low long moaning of unutter- 
able misery. Sobs shook his burly, rough fig- 
ure, and choked him. Here was a soul in 
agony, and the three boy watchers were awed. 

Fred Allston was called “ brave as a lion ;” 
he was also soft-hearted as a woman. This is 
a fine combination, and perhaps those daily 
texts had much to do with it. He could not 
endure the sight of Bill’s grief, so on his hands 
and knees he thrust his head through an open 
place in the hedge, and close to Bill’s shoulder. 

Bill heard the sound, felt some living thing 
near his hidden face and rashly concluded that 


BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS, 329 

it was Mr. Kerr’s Jersey calf, a little denizen of 
the field whom in his longing for “ lovingness ” 
Bill often petted. He reached out a tear-wet 
hand, saying, ‘'So-0-0, calfy— so-0-0 !” 

This was too much for Noah and Joe, and 
they burst into a roar of laughter which brought 
Bill up straight with his face uncovered. That 
face, wet, swollen-eyed, again sobered all the 
boys. 

“ I say. Bill,” cried Noah, “ what ’s the mat- 
ter ? Has Mr. Wells discharged you.^” 

*‘No,” gasped Bill. “I don’t do things to 
be sent away for. Fred — I did n’t know it was 
you — truly. I ’m always doing something stu- 
pid, like—” 

“Oh, never mind that,” said Fred. “Just 
tell us what ’s wrong, Bill.” 

“ It ’s my sister Sue. The doctor told me 
just now to tell mother if Sue couldn’t go to 
the city hospital to have her leg treated she ’d 
die or be crippled for life. It will break poor 
mother’s heart! Sue is so good and sweet! 
She is all our comfort and — ” 

“Why don’t you send her along, then, as 
the doctor says?” cried Joe. 

“We have n’t the money ; and we have noth- 
ing good enough to sell — and poor folks like us 
can’t borrow. I wish I could chop off my leg or 
arm and turn it into gold for little Sue I” 


330 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

“ Wish we could help you,” said Noah. 

“ Thanky for wishin’ it,” said Bill gratefully. 
Then he picked up his cap and trudged down 
the road. 

The three boys forgot the woodchuck and 
looked blankly at each other. Fred turned clear 
round then, lest his mates" should see a big tear 
running down his nose. Joe’s face was all in 
a pucker with his effort to rise above an exhi- 
bition of his sympathy. “ Do n’t he feel awful 
though !” he mumbled. 

Did n’t know Bill was— that sort of fellow,” 
said Noah with a choke. “ Kind of awful about 
his sister ; ain’t it ? I ’ve got a dollar in my 
pocket. Wish I had just thrown it into his 
cap.” 

“A dollar’s not much account, though I 
could have put a half with it. Come on, Fred ; 
let ’s go back. Queer about Bill. I thought he 
was a big, dull fellow ; now he kind of seems 
like an angel, or like a saint in a picture-book. 
Say, boys, I b’lieve he was prayin’ as well as 
cryin’.” 

They went slowly over the field towards the 
academy. Noah and Joe looked back. Fred 
had left them and gone another way. 

Suddenly, as if written in fire on the air be- 
fore him he had seen his verse, “Co-workers 
together with God,” and— had understood it. 


BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS. jji 

When people went on God’s errands of kind- 
ness to fellow beings they were co-workers with 
God! 

He went home and found his mother giving 
the children their lunch in the dining-room. He 
told her the story. 

“ Mother, something must be done. Only 
think : to have his sister die for lack of a little 
help 1 Suppose it was our Grace I” 

“We must see to it right away, Fred.” 

“It would need money to fit her out, and get 
her to the city and back, and some one would 
have to take her there. How much would it 
cost? I could take a paper around this after- 
noon ; I could start with father and Uncle Tom,” 
urged Fred eagerly. 

“ Ring for Sallie to come to the children, and 
we will go right to see Mrs. Burt, and then to 
Dr. Pike. The sooner we arrange the affair the 
better.” 

As Mrs. Allston and Fred came in sight of 
the Burts’ home they saw Bill with Joe and 
Noah. Noah’s arm was thrown over Bill’s shoul- 
der in friendly style and Joe seemed to be 
crowding something into his hand, holding his 
elbow and talking earnestly. 

Through the partly-open door of the front 
room of the Burts’ home they saw Sue lying 
asleep on a lounge. The room was neat, pleas- 


332 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


ant, shaded, but poor. Beyond, on the back 
doorstep, sat Mrs. Burt, evidently crying. To 
her they went softly. 

It was eight o’clock that night before Fred 
reached home. He shouted for his mother : 

“ I ’ve had the best success ! Got all the 
money the doctor said was needed and twenty 
dollars over; so Mrs. Burt can go down once 
and see her and have things nice for her when 
she gets back ! Dr. Pike’s wife went out to buy 
Sue’s outfit, and Mr. Bragg, the tailor, sent for 
Bill and fitted him out in a full suit. Bill is to 
take Sue to the city, he knows how to lift and 
help her so well. Dr. Pike says he ’s just won- 
derful handy. Nurse Low is going too, to get 
her there all right. Day after to-morrow morn- 
ing they ’ll start, and Dr. Pike says Sue ’ll come 
back cured ! Mr. Wells, where Bill works, sub- 
scribed eight dollars ; and when I told him — 
you know — he said Bill was the right sort of 
boy, and he ’d promote him so he ’d get two 
dollars more, and he ’d pay for him in night 
school for a year !*’ 

This is splendid,” said Mrs. Allston. “Sallie 
is keeping your supper and Noah Lee brought 
your books.” 

“ I ’ll take the alarm clock and get up at five, 
for once, to study. Bill gets up at five every 
day. Mother, when I went to Burts’ to tell them 


BREAD CAST ON THE WATERS. 


333 


all was settled, do you know Bill told me he had 
been praying and God had answered him ! And 
then, oh, you don’t know how I felt about my 
verse, ‘ Co-workers with God.’ God had let me 
be his co-worker in answering Bill’s prayer! 
Is n’t it wonderful 1” 

“ Yes, Fred, it is. And not only in such ways 
does God make us co-workers with him. Every 
one who plants and tends a seed, doing his duty 
so, helps God to feed the world. Every teacher 
faithful to his work helps God to mould the 
mind of a nation ; each faithful teacher of a 
little Sunday-school class is a co-worker with 
God in saving souls. Whoever does a kindly 
deed, says a true word, or offers a hand to lift 
up the fallen, is working with God.” 

“ That makes life solemn and fine — and worth 
living,” said Fred. 

So it does, ’’said his mother. 

After this story the children went down- 
stairs, and with Mrs. Ainslie and Mrs. Lyman 
strolled about in the gardens until tea-time. 
After tea Mr. White said that he should leave in 
the morning, and for his last evening he had 
found in one of his bags a story written by a 
friend of his ; which story, though printed, had 
probably never come to the notice of any of the 
circle at Madame Baron’s. 


334 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


It is a short story,” said Mr. White. 

'‘We shall all thank you for it,” said Ma- 
dame, “ and after it is told I wish all these chil- 
dren to disperse to their beds ; for they have 
had a long busy day — and listening so much is 
really hard work.” 

“ Our last story,” sighed Cicely, as they took 
their places. 

“ It is named,” said Mr. White, 

“HARRY’S AUNT HARRIET.” 

Mr. Gray laid a letter upon the breakfast 
table. “Sister Harriet is coming for a visit.” 
His tone was not hilarious. Mrs. Gray glanced at 
him blankly. 

“ Oh,” said Caroline, with a falling inflection. 

“ Ah,” said Grace, with a sighing sound. 

“ Now we will have fun,” said John Freder- 
ick, eldest hope of the Grays. 

“ Good !” cried Harry, youngest scion of the 
house. “ I do like company !” 

“ When it ’s nice,” suggested John Frederick.- 

“ Of course ; it ’s always nice ; and kin-folks 
are nicest of all,” replied Harry. 

“ You do n’t know Aunt Harriet,” said Grace, 
lugubriously, “ for all she named you : said you 
were her namesake.” 

“ Then I owe her something for that. It was 
good of her to take enough interest in me and I 


BREAD CAST ON THE WATERS, 333 

like my name besides ; that is because you all 
speak it so kindly to me,” he added, with a 
grateful glance around the table. “Now I shall 
have a chance to get acquainted.” 

“ She was here when you were four, and she 
could n’t bear you,” said Caroline. 

“You upset a glass of water at table over her 
best gown ; you trod on her favorite foot ; you 
knocked a bottle of ink over her new book ; you 
woke her up from her afternoon nap, and finally 
she said you were detestable, and so went away 
and has not come back since.” Thus spoke John 
Frederick. 

“ Dear me ! Did I do all those disagreeable 
things? No wonder she called me detestable. 
It took the goodness of you folks to like a young- 
ster who behaved that way. Now I’m older I 
must get back into her good graces. So glad 
you told me all I had to make up, John Freder- 
ick!” 

Through the open window came the clang of 
the high-school bell. 

“ Oh, I, did n’t think it was so late ! I have 
only had four muffins. Please excuse me, mam- 
ma ! Father, when you answer Aunt Harriet’s 
letter tell her to come as soon as she can ; that I 
am much nicer than I used to be.” 

A shout of laughter from his seniors followed 
the closing of the door behind Harry. 


JS6 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

“ I don’t see how a boy nearly fifteen can be 
so entirely confiding and innocent,” said John 
Frederick, assuming a world-worn air. 

“ He ’ll get over it fast enough,” said Caro- 
line. 

“ Wont Aunt Harriet open his eyes !” cried 
Grace. 

Then Mr. Gray, who never spoke hastily, un- 
closed his lips with authority. “ It is true that 
your Aunt Harriet has a very difficult disposi- 
tion ; she is hard to get on with. All the more 
needful, then, for you children to watch your- 
selves and treat her with scrupulous attention. 
We are to remember that she is my eldest sister 
and took much faithful care of me in my child- 
hood days. Also, we do not know what private 
sorrows have warped her temper. One thing I 
wish you to be careful about : do not in any way 
arouse suspicion in Harry nor give him any un- 
pleasant impressions concerning Harriet. Let 
her come here to find at least one heart strongly 
in her favor. Harry may be a blessing to 
her.” 

“ His loving, trustful, frank nature is beauti- 
ful, I think,” said Mrs. Gray. 

“Yes,” said Caroline. “ I never look at Har- 
ry’s honest, kind eyes without wondering why I 
could n’t have his disposition.” 

“ He ’s that way,” said John Frederick, “ be- 


BREAD CAST ON THE WATERS. 


337 


cause we have all spoiled and petted him so 
much. The world will take it out of him.” 

He is one of the kind that makes it easy to 
be good when he is around,” said Grace; “he 
seems unconsciously to create a clean sweet 
moral atmosphere.” 

Harry was the one to go with his mother to 
the station to meet Aunt Harriet. Mrs. Gray, 
seated in the surrey, pointed her out, and Harry 
dashed to meet her. 

“ Here I am, Aunt Harriet ! Perhaps you 
do n’t know me, but I ’m Harry. I know you 
are tired, the day is so warm. Let me put you 
into the surrey.” 

He took bag and shawl-strap in one hand 
gave his aunt his arm proudly, and escorted her 
to the surrey. 

“ Here she is at last !” he cried, as if announ- 
cing one long-wished-for. “That your check, 
aunt? I’ll see to your trunk. Are you quite 
comfortable ? ' Sure you left nothing in the 
cars ?” 

“ I do n’t go strewing my belongings about 
the country like some folks,” said Aunt Harriet. 
But Harry had picked her check from between 
her fingers and was gone. 

“ Of course he ’ll lose the check, or get the 
wrong trunk,” said Miss Harriet. 

“ Harry is very careful,” said his mother. 

22 


338 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 


“No boy of that age is careful ; they are as 
wild as hawks, and expect grown folks to leave 
their things round in cars !” sniffed Miss Harriet, 
bobbing her head here and there to look for 
Harry. “ Louisa, are you sitting on my umbrel- 
la ? Will you look under the seat for it ? Where 
is my umbrella?” 

“ Harry is bringing it,” said Mrs. Gray. 

“ Your check is all right. Bent will have the 
trunk at the house in no time. Here is your 
umbrella, aunt. A gentleman gave it to me. 
You left it in the cars, but he saw me meet you. 
It seems you are one of the folks people know 
and remember. Probably it is because you are 
so straight. Father is always reminding me to 
be straight. I must copy from you. Mamma, 
give me the reins, and we will be home in no 
time. I am sure Aunt Harriet wants to wash off 
the car dust.” 

“ Don’t go so fast,” cried his aunt ; “ I know 
that horse is running away ! Boys ought n’t to 
drive !” 

Harry immediately, without expostulation, 
slackened speed. He was one of those well- 
constituted people who are willing to let other 
folks be comfortable in their own way. 

Finally Aunt Harriet and her trunk were 
safely in her own room. Harry had carried up 
umbrella, strap, bag. Half an hour later he 


BREAD CAST ON THE WATERS. 


339 


knocked at the door. Aunt Harriet opened it. 
What did he want now ? 

“ I brought you a bouquet, aunt. I know you 
love these clove pinks. See what beauties they 
are ; and the little vase — do you know it ? It be- 
longed to your mother.” 

It was one of Aunt Harriet’s ways to say that 
she hated flowers, they only made litter where 
they were around. She could not say that with 
Harry, eager and happy, holding out the fra- 
grant cluster of pink, scarlet, white, yellow. And 
then her mother’s vase ! 

“ Yes, I know that vase. I ought to have had 
that. It was my mother’s !” 

“ Father gave it to me, so I could have a sou- 
venir of grandma, though I never saw her. But 
of course you have the best right, aunt, and I 
shall be glad to give it to you. You will tell me 
all about grandma; won’t you? Women re- 
member so much better than men ; don’t they? 
Are you real comfortable ? Is there anything I 
can get you? You will come down when you 
feel like it? John Frederick told me how 
wretchedly I acted when you were here before ; 
now I must do my best to make up for it. 

Aunt Harriet found herself surrounded with 
gracious little attentions— a flower laid at her 
plate ; the easiest chair always ready ; a stool 
pushed to her feet ; if she rose to leave the room 


340 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

Harry opened the door. Are you looking for 
your handkerchief, aunt ? Let me run up to 
your room for one.” “ Warm after your ride, 
are n’t you ? Here, I can fan both of us,” and 
Harry sat on the arm of her chair and fanned. 

Harry honestly liked to hear old-time tales, 
and he listened to them intently. He told Aunt 
Harriet all about his plans, his lessons, his school 
adventures and school friends. He was entirely 
sure that she took an interest in all these things. 
He had a happy faculty for seeing the right side 
of everything, and, like charity, he “ thought no 
evil.” 

“ I think you must be, in a way, like Tom 
West’s grandfather,” he said. “ He is very wit- 
ty, and says jokes so gravely that they almost 
sound in earnest only that you know they could 
not be earnest. Now you are like that. I can 
hardly see at first that you are joking, you are so 
grave about it, and then I know that you must 
be ; and it is a splendid way to set people right 
and make them see clearly. When you said all 
that about ministers not needing a vacation more 
than ditch-diggers, and being lazy, and having 
easy work, you sounded quite earnest, but of 
course I saw that it was only to let folks see how 
hard and mean all that talk is ; for ministers’ 
work is very taxing on their minds and nerves 
and feelings, and they never have real free days, 


BREAD CAST ON THE WATERS. 


341 


with care off, as people who live by digging.” 
Miss Gray looked sharply at her nephew to see 
if he was in earnest. He surely was. 

“ Read me this letter, Harry. My glasses are 
at the jeweller’s,” said Aunt Harriet. The letter 
was from a man on whose house Miss Gray held 
a mortgage. Such a sad letter ! Harry’s voice 
faltered over it: wife just recovering from a 
long illness, a child dead, no money ready to 
pay the mortgage or even the interest ; but how 
could he give up his home? Would she be 
merciful, and wait a little ? 

“ What does the man take me for !” cried 
Miss Gray with heat. To foreclose that mort- 
gage had been her long desire. 

“ So I say,” said Harry. “ He writes just as 
if you were a heathen ! “ Does he think, aunt, 

that when God has made you so well off you 
would drive him from his home for a little debt ? 
But, poor man, no doubt he has found the world 
so hard he thinks you are like the rest, and for- 
gets that you are a Christian. Shall I run for 
your glasses, or shall I write the letter for you 
to tell him not to worry ; that you will wait ?” 

‘‘ You can write,” said Aunt Harriet, to her 
own intense astonishment. But somehow she 
could not be other than this boy believed her to 
be. 

“ Oh, aunt ! Are you the only one at home ? 


342 


THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF, 


All right ; no one could be better. I am in such 
a way for some money !” 

“ Want to throw it away on a tennis or base- 
ball outfit ?” demanded his aunt. 

“ No, aunt, it is about a boy in Sunday-school 
class with me. I saw him down town nearly 
heart-broken. His father has been in hospital 
ever so long, and there are five of them — and 
the mother couldn’t pay the rent, and the land- 
lord is going to turn her out and take her sew- 
ing-machine. You ’ll let me have money, dear 
Aunt Harriet. You are so kind you will give 
me the money for them.” 

Miss Harriet had money in her lap. She had 
a folded bill between her thumb and finger. At 
her nephew’s demand she flourished out her 
hand saying, “ I never refuse to give.” 

“ There, I just knew you would not refuse,” 
cried Harry, laying hold of the bill. “ Oh, how 
good you are ! I ’ll tell you all about it when I 
get back.” 

He was off like the wind. Aunt Harriet was 
too dazed to cry out. She had begun to say, 

“ I never refuse to give my share to regular 
church work, but I never give to promiscuous 
objects.” 

And Harry was gone with the money ! She 
mechanically went on folding the bills. What 
was that bill Harry had ? A two, she thought. 


BREAD CAST ON THE WATERS. 343 

No. Could it be possible it was a big twenty ? 
That was highway robbery ! 

It was nearly three hours before Harry re- 
turned, and the family were at home. Harry 
rushed in jubilant, flung himself on the carpet 
at his aunt’s feet and cried out, “ You are the 
best woman that ever was — except my mother ! 
How happy you made me ! Oh but I ’m tired ! 
I ’ll tell you about it. Poor Mrs. Bond says you 
must be a perfect angel ; she never knew of 
anyone in her life so good and generous! I 
supposed it was about a five, or maybe less, and 
there you gave me a whole twenty ! I jumped for 
joy ! We paid the rent, and got some coal and 
flour and vegetables, and she had a little over ; 
and she just cried and called down blessings on 
you. Aunt, she is so grateful to you ! If you 
would go to visit her I know you could tell her 
how to get on better. She does n’t know quite 
how, I think.” 

“ What’s that?” said John Frederick. “ Has 
Harry been roping you into some of his chari- 
ties ?” 

“ A mere trifle,” said Aunt Harriet stiffly. 
Not for worlds would she admit that this was all 
a mistake. She could afford to lose twenty dol- 
lars but not to bend her pride. To lose ? Here 
was Harry sweetly adding, 

“ Won’t you sleep well to-night ! I think 


344 the house ON THE BLUFF. 

your text for the day, aunt, must have been, 
‘ Inasmuch as ye did it unto the least of these 
my brethren ye did it unto Me.’ ” 

“ What kind of witchcraft has Harry used to 
mollify Aunt Harriet?” said Grace, a few weeks 
later. “ She is another woman.” 

“ It is his loving way, his honest faith in her, 
that has done it,” said Mrs. Gray. “ He has 
believed in her better nature until he has 
brought it to the surface and is keeping it there, 
for ‘ charity covereth a multitude of sins.’ ” 


AFTER THE FLOOD. 


345 


CHAPTER XIII. 

AFTER THE FLOOD. 

— “ The higher Nilus swells 
The more it promises ; as it ebbs, the seedsman 
Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain, 

And shortly comes the harvest.” 

The guests at Madame Baron’s had all dis- 
persed. The river had fallen to its proper bed. 
Not only so, but the droughts of summer had 
come and the river had shrunken and shrunken, 
and the snags and sand bars had appeared, and 
river travel and commerce had stopped for weeks. 

Robert’s parents had come back from Eu- 
rope, and Robert had been at home with them 
for ten months. At last it was fifteen months 
after the ‘‘ Great Flood ” and Robert was back 
to spend a vacation with his grandmother. 

There was so much to see and hear and tell ! 

At grandmamma’s there was such a pleasant 
girl named Charlotte ; a useful, contented-look- 
ing, sweet-faced girl, with something in her eyes 
and about her mouth which suggested that she 
had known sorrow. Finally it dawned upon 
Robert that this was the Charlotte G of Mrs. 


346 THE HOUSE ON THE BLUFF. 

Lyman’s journal. He privately asked Madame 
Baron. 

“Yes; and she is very happy here.” 

“ Do you like her ?” asked Robert. 

“ I love her, indeed,” said Madame. 

Charlotte proposed one afternoon to drive 
over to see Mrs. Lyman and take Robert with 
her. At Mrs. Lyman’s there was a very pretty, 
merry, beloved little maiden, three years old. 
She called Cicely “sister,” and Mrs. Lyman 
“ mother.” 

“ This is the little flood baby, Robert,” said 
Mrs. Lyman. “ The one I adopted because all 
her family was drowned.” 

“ She is a little dear, and we are so glad of 
her,” said Cicely, “ and mother says she is mak- 
ing me less selfish than I used to be.” 

“ Perhaps my folks ought to adopt five or six 
to keep me from being selfish,” said Robert. 
“ I hate selfishness, but I know I am falling into 
it.” 

“ Not much, I am sure,” said Charlotte G . 

One day Ezra took Robert out with him in 
the spring wagon when he went over to Mr. 
Slocum’s place on some business. Robert came 
back full of excitement, and rushed to his grand- 
mother as if she had never heard any neighbor- 
hood news since he left. 

“ Grandma ! Mr. Slocum’s house is built ; real 


AFTER THE FLOOD. 


347 


nice : picket fence, white paint, blinds, flower-beds 
in front, and two seats under the trees. Grand- 
ma, Sardinia is there, Sardinia Bowker, that sold 
her pigs, you know ! She married Mr. Slocum, 
do n’t you think ! She has a whole pen full of 
pigs — and she has lambs, and calves, and chick- 
ens, and all sorts of things — and her sister Lucy, 
or some such name, stays with her. I guess Sar- 
dinia is having a real nice time.. She looks 
smiley in the eyes. And her mother was over 
there, in a buggy, and she looks real smiley 
too.” 

On another day another of the threads of the 
past was gathered up. Letters came from Mrs. 
Ainslie, with one from Alec for Robert. 

Alec told much of his happy town home in 
old Edinburgh ; much of the great goodness of 
Mrs. Ainslie and all her friends to him ; much of 
his studies, and how after a while he would be 
in college, and “by and by a minister, please 
God, as my mother’s father was before me.” 

“ Dear me, grandma,” said Robert, “ a great 
many good things came out of that flood, as well 
as a great many destructive things ; did n’t they ! 
They make me think of how in Egypt they cast 
seed out on the flood, and it comes up food after 
many days.” 



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